I Would For You
by taralkariel
Summary: After destroying HYDRA's ability to take him again, he starts to define himself as more than the Winter Soldier, and maybe as Bucky Barnes, as more of his past surfaces. When Steve asks him to come back into the field, he can't say no, soon finding himself with a support system he hasn't had in decades. He'll need them when tragedy strikes. (eventual Bucky-centric Civil War story)
1. What a Pathetic String of Words

**A/N: This is a sequel to Terrible Lie and Yes, Anastasia, though it can be read alone (just be a bit confusing in chapter 1). It will follow Bucky in more post-CATWS adventures and continue into what the Civil War might look like in the MCU (from Bucky's perspective), with Steve, Sam, Natasha, Clint, Fury, Tony, and Sharon all making appearances. Chapter titles are from I Would For You by Nine Inch Nails. Please read and review!**

**1\. What a pathetic string of words**

He's an idiot. Why didn't he see it before? Why didn't he remember? So many things have come back, but this… He'd put the strange way she made him feel to other burgeoning emotions, not to another layer added to his sick past. And she hadn't known, so he feels terrible to have forced her to remember, too. He knows that's what he is doing, has been doing, for months, but she hasn't in years. She knows who she is. Or thought she did. And now he's screwed it up. Because he thought there was something there when, clearly, there wasn't.

After he kissed her, and broke away in confusion, they stared at each other for a long time. Anything could have happened after that interminable silence. Finally, the horror on her face changed to something softer, and she gently touched his cheek before disappearing into her apartment. He doesn't know how long he stood there, at a loss, before he managed to turn his feet in the direction of home and left her building.

What he did that night is a mystery; he doesn't even remember making it back. But he does remember Steve coming by in the morning.

"Hey, Buck, how'd it go?" Steve asks casually as he locked the door behind him and set his keys on the table. Steve didn't live there, but was around most of the time. Once Steve catches sight of his expression, he sobers, looking very serious. "What happened?"

"I…" He can't say it. What would he say? How could he tell Steve that he's screwed up again? He stares bleakly at his friend, who slowly walks over and pulls up a chair beside him.

"Did anyone hurt you?" He shakes his head. "Did you hurt anyone?" Shakes his head again. "Did Nat do something?" He bites his lip, considering. "Bucky, tell me."

"I knew her," he chokes out. Steve stares at him, frowning slightly in confusion.

"When?"

"In Russia."

Steve sits back, studying him. "In the Red Room?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, Buck, but I need you to tell me why that's upsetting you. What happened in the Red Room with Nat?"

"I…" He trails off, staring at his lap, clenching and unclenching his hands. "I don't know," he whispers.

"Does she?" Steve's voice is authoritative, determined; he'll go find out if Bucky wants him to.

He shakes his head quickly. "She didn't remember, either, until I… Until we…" Steve looks at him intently, encouragingly. "I kissed her," he finishes softly. "And then, then I saw all these times I'd seen her before. Known her before."

"In the Red Room?"

"In the Red Room." Meeting Steve's eye, he is surprised to see the slightest hint of grim amusement on his face. "What?" he asks tiredly.

Steve allows the smile to appear in earnest on his face as he shakes his head in admiration. "Man, I was impressed you got Nat interested now. I'm shocked you were able to do that when you were both, you know, killing machines."

"Thanks," he answers in a bemused tone.

"So, you remembered. And so did she. It seems like a good thing to me," Steve says gently.

He frowns, considering. "They punished us both for it. In different ways. I wasn't allowed to remember. She was. I think she was repressing it, what they did to her, and now I've forced her," he mumbles.

Steve moves his chair closer, the scraping of the wood against the tile breaking the stillness, and puts his arm around his shoulders. "Bucky, it wasn't you. It was them. I'm sure she'll be glad to know, she was probably just startled."

Frowning deeply, he can't meet Steve's eye. He doesn't understand. He doesn't know what it's like to have memories come from nothing, telling you what kind of person you were, what kinds of things you did because you couldn't stop it. Natalia understands. But he's driven her away.

"Bucky, please. Tell me so I can understand."

Had he been thinking out loud? No, Steve knows when he's being pushed away. He's had plenty of practice lately. "I have to live with what I've done. So does she. But we don't like remembering it," he says hesitantly. "I want to know, I want to know what I have to make up for. But I don't know if that's what she wants."

Steve squeezes his shoulder gently, then sits back in his chair, thoughtful. "You love her," he says suddenly, sounding surprised.

He looks at Steve sharply. "What makes you say that?"

"You may be one of the best in the world at covert ops, but there are some things you don't hide well, my friend," Steve says lightly, teasing, as he pats his shoulder and gets to his feet. "Why don't you go see how she's doing this morning?"

Watching Steve, he bites his lip. "You think that's a good idea?"

"I think Nat's the strongest person I know, and she's probably more worried about you than anything else," he says.

"Alright," he mutters, and goes to make himself presentable.

* * *

He doesn't know how long he stands outside Natalia's door before he knocks. Too long, probably. She likely knows he's there; he's familiar with the security measures Stark helped her put into place here. Offered to do the same to his own apartment, though he declined. He raises his hand, tentatively, and knocks once, considering leaving before she can answer.

Too late. "Hello, James," she says quietly as she opens the door. She looks tired, but beautiful, and he can't seem to find anything to say. A smirk appears on her lips as she leans against the door, no doubt amused by his tongue-tied response. Or lack thereof. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Are you?" he forces out.

She nods. "Didn't get much sleep, but otherwise I'm fine. I…" She pauses, looking passed him into the hallway. "Why don't you come in?"

When she steps back inside, he follows her hesitantly and shuts the door behind him. She walks over to her couch and turns around to lean against it, looking at him. He doesn't move. Her living room, onto which her front door opens, contains a couch, a loveseat, a television, and very little else. He had expected her place to be more decorated than this. She catches his eye and he stops his inspection.

"Fury called me."

"Yeah?"

"He needs me to go on a mission, James," she says with an unaccountable softness.

Frowning slightly, he nods. "Alright."

She sighs and walks over to him. He holds very still as she comes to a halt less than a foot away. "I'll be off the grid for a while, maybe a month. No contact." Her voice is authoritative, direct. Distancing herself. "I just," she adds, gentler. "I didn't want you to think it was because of you."

"Alright," he repeats, licking his lips.

"I'll let you know when I get back," she offers. The hesitance in her tone makes him think that perhaps this isn't something she usually does, which makes him smile tentatively.

"I'm looking forward to it, Natalia," he tells her sincerely.

A reciprocating smile appears on her face and she lifts a hand to touch his cheek lightly. "Stay out of trouble while I'm gone," she says seriously.

"Yes, ma'am," he promises.

"Maybe you can keep Steve out of trouble, too," she adds with a grin.

"That will be more of a challenge."

"Well, do what you can."

She starts to turn away and he catches her wrist lightly in his right hand. "Stay safe," he says seriously.

"Clint will watch my back. And Fury said it wouldn't be too dangerous," she reassures him, not moving in his grip.

He shakes his head slightly, frowning. "Fury doesn't have my perspective."

"And what's your perspective?" she asks.

It may be his imagination, but she seems to lean a little closer at the question. Ignoring his first impulse, he drops her wrist and moves his hand to hover over the scar he knows is above her hip. "That you've been through enough," he answers softly. "And are irreplaceable."

Smiling, she covers his hand and presses it against her scar, then reaches up to cup his cheek. "You're sweet. But I knew what I was doing," she adds before leaning in and kissing him briefly. Then she steps back and winks at him before turning away. "I'll see you soon, James," she says over her shoulder as she disappears around the corner.

Struggling to keep from grinning, he lets himself out of her apartment and walks home. As he turns his key in the lock, he wonders what she meant when she referenced Odessa.


	2. Just Leave Them Lying on the Floor

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing! I really appreciate the immediate feedback, those of you who have followed/favorited/reviewed already! My apologies to anyone who actually knows Russian; I just used the translate feature on Word.**

**2\. Just leave them lying on the floor**

Steve's still hanging around when he gets back, which is somewhat surprising. "Don't you have anywhere else to be?" he asks, giving in to the impulse to grin as he walks through the door.

A slightly startled look crosses Steve's face before he smiles. "Somewhere besides waiting to pick up the pieces of my best friend when the ex-Soviet super spy he fell for dumps him on his ass?"

He wrinkles his nose at him. "Well, she didn't. She's just going on a mission for a while. Shut up, Steve," he adds when Steve opens his mouth.

"It's okay, Buck, that's what most ladies do when you ask them out. Leave the country for a while."

With a dramatic sigh, he drops onto the opposite end of the couch from where Steve is sitting. "You're a terrible friend. I don't see you чате вверх любой дамы."

Steve is staring at him, brow slightly furrowed. "I don't speak Russian, Bucky," he says quietly after a pause.

Licking his lips, he shakes his head and stares down at his hands. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"It's okay. It happens. Were you talking to Nat in Russian?" Steve suggests, clearly to give him an excuse for his lapse. He doesn't take advantage of it.

"I honestly don't know. Sometimes my brain just switches me over without telling me," he answers, almost but not quite successful at keeping the bitterness from his voice.

Most of his memories had returned. They were difficult to sift through, and things ended up getting garbled. Sometimes he switched between two or three different languages in one sentence, which was often how he discovered what other tongues he could speak. How or when he had learned them was usually a mystery, though Steve assured him that he had picked some up easily during the war. But he didn't like to talk about it. The words he knew were indicative enough of what kind of situations he'd been in and they weren't pleasant to contemplate.

"It's alright, Buck," Steve reassures him, looking at him intently. "You're right, though. I am a terrible friend."

He smiles tentatively. "Especially since you aren't putting yourself out there."

"Aren't I?" Steve raises an eyebrow at him quizzically.

He shrugs. "I mean, there's Sharon. Is she still your girl?"

"I don't think she'd appreciate being called that," Steve answers with a pained smile.

"Oh? Why not?"

Shrugging, Steve stands up. Avoiding the topic as usual. "Because things are… complicated right now. Okay, on your feet, we have to meet Sam in DC today and we're going to be late."

* * *

The trip to DC takes a while, since they drive. Well, Steve drives. He tries to avoid stressful situations whenever possible. Steve is very quiet on the trip, which is unusual. Although, truthfully, Steve was always the quieter of the two before the war. It's just more recently that Steve has held up the conversational end of things. The silence feels awkward at some points, but he can't think of how to break it, especially since he can't seem to focus on much besides Natalia.

"You haven't gone out with Sharon lately," he says abruptly when he decides the silence has been allowed to continue for too long.

Steve's hand clenches around the steering wheel and he glances sharply at him. "True," he answers shortly.

"Why?"

With a sigh, Steve shakes his head slowly. "Why are you asking?"

He gives it some thought before responding. "You work too hard. You're always fully invested in whatever you're doing. And that's a strain on you. I just thought, you know, having some positive influence, something pleasant, would be important. Since you haven't let yourself have a personal life since you became Captain America."

Steve purses his lips, staring at the road with too much intensity. "You think I had one before?"

"You wanted one."

"Yeah, well, it didn't seem like much of an option," Steve mutters.

He takes a deep breath. "You should have relationships outside of work, Steve. You had friends when we were kids, not just me. Maybe not lady friends, but you haven't let yourself have many regular friends since you were unfrozen, either. Natalia and Sam have worked very hard to get you to, you know, talk to them. About more than just the mission."

"Maybe that's all I was comfortable talking about."

"Okay, I get it. It was a huge culture shock. And it's understandable that you'd have trouble relating to people for a while. But you didn't really try."

"Yeah, I wonder why I wouldn't want to."

He bites his lip, watching his friend, suddenly understanding. "You didn't have to be alone to grieve for me, Steve. For any of us. Having people around… It really helps." Steve doesn't answer. "You need to stop carrying around all your dead. Sam always says you have to let people help you. I know you're Captain America, but you're Steve Rogers, too. And he doesn't have to stoically hold the world on his shoulders all the time. He can have fun occasionally."

Steve smiles grimly. "Occasionally," he echoes.

"Yeah, well, I know you'd stop listening to me if I said you should have fun, you know, frequently," he answers lightly.

"I'm glad you came back," Steve murmurs.

He reaches out to pat Steve's shoulder. "Sometimes I think, if you didn't have me, you wouldn't have anyone who truly understood you," he replies.

Nodding, Steve frowns deeply. "Yeah, probably."

"So I guess it's good that they found me," he suggests, an attempt at levity. It doesn't come as much of a surprise that it doesn't work, and Steve looks angry.

"No, it's not. I should have –" he begins.

"Stop it, Steve. You rescued me."

"Yeah, once. Not when you really needed it."

Sighing impatiently, he clenches and unclenches his hands. "I didn't mean back in '43. I meant a few months ago. Without you, I'd still be a slave killing people. Or dead," he adds harshly. "I owe you for that."

He doesn't expect Steve to believe him, not really, but he does nod slowly. "I just wish that we had, you know, survived the war. Gone back to Brooklyn."

"Yeah, me too," he answers quietly. "Have you been there?"

"A few times. It's not the same."

He nods. "I tried to jog some memories there, but it wasn't as helpful as I hoped."

"Too bad there weren't any Russian dames there to kiss you," Steve says, dead-pan.

Smiling broadly, he leans back against his seat. "If only all my memories had come back that way," he says wistfully.

Steve grins. "I'm not going to kiss you, Buck. Tell me about Nat."

Sobering, he looks outside and takes a deep breath. "She was one of twenty-eight, before I meet her," he begins.


	3. The Warning Posted On the Door

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing!**

**3\. The warning posted on the door**

His clip is empty. Rather than reload, he tosses his weapon to the ground and pulls out one of his knives. He always has knives on him, he thinks. Force of habit. Twirling it through his fingers to remind himself of its weight, he continues to move forward, catching bullets that he cannot dodge on his left arm and making quick work of anyone who comes within arm's reach. It's almost too easy, and the sinking feeling that this is where he feels most comfortable is hard to ignore.

"Status, Buck," Steve's voice crackles in his ear.

Hastily glancing around the room, he throws his knife at the last man standing, who drops to the floor immediately. "Threat neutralized," he answers.

"That was fast," Sam's voice interjects, and he smiles grimly.

"Be careful leaving the barracks, Buck. There are a lot more of them than we thought. Meet us downstairs as soon as you can."

"Copy."

He never talked much on missions, even during the war. He was focused, getting the job done. Unnecessary chatter was a distraction, though he knew a lot of guys needed that, needed to distance themselves from what they had to do. He supposed he just wasn't one of those guys. As the Soldier, speaking freely wasn't exactly encouraged, and he was certainly not expected to say anything outside of the mission parameters. Probably for the whole seventy years. So Sam might tease to lighten the mood, but he won't respond to it until the job's done.

Wiping his knife on the clothes of one of the dead HYDRA agents, he goes to where he dropped his gun and picks it up. Reloading it efficiently, he pauses to listen carefully before moving cautiously out of the barracks he was sent to neutralize. Whether or not that meant to kill every last one of them was not specified. Steve prefers not to approach missions with the intention of ending a lot of lives, but he knew what he was doing, sending him in here. Sending the Winter Soldier in here.

As he moves silently down the dark hallways, the stillness somewhat shocking after the intensity of the fight, he considers the other missions he has been sent to perform. Not many involved wanton destruction, unless Steve was involved. Steve is more subtle now, he notes, but definitely not a spy. Not a trained assassin. So Steve takes Sam and they approach the issue like soldiers, while he sneaks in to neutralize threats before they become an issue. Just like old times, he supposes.

He hears footsteps approaching slowly, and he freezes in place, listening hard. The footsteps continue in his direction and he slowly rotates to lean against the wall behind him to present as minimal a target as possible. A heavily armed man appears around the corner, moving hesitantly forward and looking around hastily. He waits as long as he can before springing forward and wrapping his metal fingers around the man's throat; the armor he wears prevents him from using another type of attack as effectively.

Gunfire echoes deafeningly down the corridor as the startled HYDRA agent attempts to get a shot at him. It's useless; he's too close. He tightens his fingers and uses his other hand to knock the gun from the other man's hands. It clatters to the floor as he swings the man against the wall, knocking him unconscious. Probably not killing him, but he doesn't have much experience with less-than-deadly force.

"Status, Bucky," Steve says suddenly, sounding a little out of breath.

"En route," he answers.

"Faster would be better," Sam mutters.

Automatically, he moves more quickly in Steve's direction. When he runs into other agents, he doesn't waste time attempting stealth. They are surprised, afraid, and pose little threat. Even heavily armored ones are quickly dispatched. Finally, he reaches the large room Steve and Sam are trying to fight their way across. It's too small for Sam's wings to be very useful, and they are getting cornered by more than twenty men. He doesn't take time to count them; just jumps into the fray.

It is difficult to gauge time, but he feels bones break against his fingers, both metal and flesh, and runs out of ammo again more than once. His knife is dripping as he pulls it out of the last man. Steve and Sam are standing nearby, catching their breaths. He doesn't like the way Sam is looking at him.

"What?" he asks irritably.

Sam smiles. "I'm just glad you're on our side," he says sincerely. Steve smirks at that.

"He's always been good in a fight," Steve agrees, rearming himself and securing his shield to his back.

"You're making me blush," he replies, wiping off his knife again and tucking it back into its sheath.

"Let's go, then," Steve orders, leading the way down a narrow corridor.

Sam sighs dramatically. "I hate these underground missions."

"We'll find you somewhere to use your wings next time," Steve promises.

They fall silent as they move quickly and quietly downhill. He can't say he likes underground missions, either, but they do tend to feature that component heavily. HYDRA was in hiding for decades; their remaining bases are not likely to be out in the open. He's been to enough of them recently to know that's the case. It's good to have backup this time, he thinks. Or a team. It's been a long time since he's had any support on missions.

Steve motions for them to stop, and he peers around the corner before nodding at them. They have reached the detention level. Moving forward when Steve moves back, he surveys the room. Three guards, on high alert, but they clearly don't expect the intruders to bother coming down here. They're heavily armed and might present a challenge. To someone else. He pulls out his pistol and neutralizes the three of them in a matter of seconds. Glancing back, he gives Steve a smile.

"Was that not the plan?"

Steve shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips. "Not really, but it works. Let's go."

He falls back to let Steve lead them again, checking their surroundings constantly. They are deep in the base now, and he can't help but feel something like a trapped animal. Their footsteps echo across the empty room as they move passed the dead guards and toward the rows of cells.

When he was in Azzano, Italy, HYDRA took him prisoner. He and his men were packed into small cells that just consisted of bars on every side. There were over a dozen of these. It was cramped, unpleasant, but it was better than later. When he got sick, when he couldn't work anymore, he was taken to an isolation ward. No one had come back from there. He hadn't wanted to be afraid, but he'd been terrified. In front of the others, it was easy to put on a brave face. But, alone, he couldn't do that. Alone he had resorted to saying his name, rank, and personnel number to keep from giving up. And then Steve had rescued him.

So he can't help but feel empathetic toward these prisoners, even if their cells are much more high-tech than his was. It takes a few tries to figure out how to open the damn things, but they manage. They stare at him, these people, and not in the same way they stare at Steve. He wonders if his reputation precedes him here, too.

"I've got the doctor," Sam says, leading an elderly gentleman toward them.

"Great. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Steve addresses the man, who squints at him.

"Where are you taking me?" the man asks, in the tone of someone resigned to their fate.

"Nick Fury sends his apologies for Copenhagen," Steve replies, and the man's eyes widen.

"I… I thought he was dead."

"We all did, sir. Now, we need to get you out of here."

Leaving Steve to his job, he turns away and starts to head back out, prepared to clear a path if need be. It's awfully quiet on the trip back uphill, with nearly a dozen prisoners in tow. The unsettled feeling from earlier increases and he can't help wanting to be done with this place as soon as possible.

Suddenly, a shot comes out of nowhere and manages to hit Steve square in the chest. He goes down. Automatically, he pulls his weapon and fires accurately in the direction of the shot, hearing another body hit the floor.

"Steve!" he cries, turning back and running to his friend.

Sam, who was covering the rear, sprints to join him. "What the hell," he says.

He kneels by Steve, whose eyes are closed, and is sickened to think of how much he looks like when he was pulled out of the Potomac.

"I'm fine," Steve wheezes, wincing.

Relief makes his knees weak, but he helps Steve to his feet anyway. "We should hurry," he says to Sam, who nods, a similar look of relief flooding his face.


	4. Not Over Here, Not Anymore

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing! :)**

**4\. Not over here, not anymore**

There is a plane waiting for them a few miles away. Getting the newly-freed prisoners and Steve there is a challenge, but they manage it. Sam helps a lot; it's hard for him to stay focused. Images keep flashing before his eyes, images of Steve bruised and bloody from his hands, falling away into the river. He's on edge and upset, completely different from how he felt on the mission itself.

It was his first mission after he stopped being the Soldier. Steve had given him the opportunity to join him on many missions beforehand, but he wasn't ready. What was expected of him on ops with Captain America would not be the same as what his former masters had cultivated in their favorite weapon. So he had to know he could keep himself under control (his own) before he was willing to consider following Steve again.

"I'm okay, Buck," Steve tells him quietly as he sinks slowly onto one of the seats near the hatch they just entered. He doesn't answer, just watches his friend. He is aware of Sam settling the other passengers and then going to the cockpit.

"You could have died," he says emotionlessly after the engines have started, shifting his weight so the movement of the vehicle won't affect his balance.

"Yeah, well, I didn't," Steve mumbles.

"Because of your suit. But it was just lucky they hit your chest," he insists, a hint of anger seeping into his tone.

Sighing, Steve leans his head on the wall behind him and closes his eyes. "You mean where there is a nice bright target?" he asks, gesturing to the emblazoned star.

"Fine," he concedes. "It helps. But, Steve," he begins, but doesn't know where to go with it.

"Bucky, it's the job. You know that. What am I supposed to do? I have a shield, I have armor. It's worked out for me this far. There isn't another way to do this."

"What is this?" he wants to know.

Steve opens his eyes to look at him carefully, his vaguely exasperated expression softening when he catches his eye. "Serving my country. I know you, of all people, can understand that."

The words are gentle and he looks away, surveying the disheveled group of people spread throughout the cabin ahead of them. "Times have changed," he mumbles.

"Yes. But they need us."

"Us?" he asks sharply, focusing on his friend again.

If Steve is startled by the intensity of his stare, he doesn't show it. "You can do great things, Buck."

"Shape the century?" The bitterness is obvious in his voice; Steve knows what he's referencing.

"No," Steve answers firmly. "This is your choice. You don't have to choose what I did. But I was made this way to help people, and Dr. Erskine was killed before he could make anyone else like me. So I owe it to him to keep scum like HYDRA from taking control." He can feel a grim smile twist his features, and Steve frowns deeply at him. "Bucky, I thought this was what you wanted. I don't want you to feel like you have to be here."

"I don't know what I want," he admits painfully. "I don't want to… to be alone with my ghosts. I don't want to lose you again, Steve," he mumbles.

Steve gives him a gentle smile. "I understand, Buck."

"But going out there, with you. Seeing you in danger, getting hurt, I don't know if I can take it."

"I can't just stay home," Steve says quietly. "I have a job to do."

He shakes his head. "I know that. But I think that… I think it was too soon. This, I mean. I don't think I'm ready for this."

"That's alright, Buck," Steve is quick to reassure him. He always uses his name more when he's worried. "I'm sure we can find another way for you to help me, if that's what you want."

Nodding tentatively, he looks out the window at the passing clouds. He hadn't noticed the take-off, though he doesn't consider that surprising. He feels like he's had tunnel vision since they were in the base and Steve was hit. His fingers clench and release out of habit and he turns back to Steve.

"I'm very good in the field. I just… Sam said he was there just to watch when Riley fell. I… I couldn't do that, Steve. I couldn't do what you did with me," he murmurs haltingly.

The expression on Steve's face is difficult to look at. "I'm fine, Buck," he repeats, though meaning much more this time. "It was endurable." He says it as though he didn't go on a suicide mission within days of watching his best friend fall from a train.

"Steve, you don't… The last time I saw you injured, it was because of me. One of the only times I've seen you injured, and it was because I was trying to kill you. I dream about it most nights," he whispers.

Steve shifts in his chair as though he will get up, but winces at the movement and stays seated. "Bucky," he responds painfully.

He clears his throat. "Maybe I can go on missions alone," he suggests, tone calm again.

"So I can worry about whether or not you've been recaptured if you don't answer right away?" Steve wants to know.

"Maybe neither of us should leave the house," he mutters, flashing Steve a small smile, which is reciprocated after a pause.

"That's clearly the only option. We have decades of pop culture to catch up on anyway."

Brow furrowing slightly, he shakes his head. "How do you catch up on seventy years of a changing culture?"

Steve smiles confidently. "I've made a list. Whenever someone mentions something I'm not familiar with, I add it."

A short laugh escapes him. "How's that working out for you?"

"Pretty well, actually," Steve admits with a chuckle. "It's probably not the best system, though, since I'm always finding out about things after the time it would have been useful. So I'm open to suggestions."

He considers for a moment. "Well, we could just start at the beginning and go through everything in order. It would probably make the most sense."

"Seems like a lot of work."

"Well, if we're retired," he answers with a shrug.

Steve laughs. "Have I let you talk me into that already?"

"Yes, definitely. You're going to go chat with all these nice folks now because they're your last mission and you want to make it special," he explains convincingly.

"Alright, I'd better get to it, then." Steve moves as if to get out of the seat again, but stops with a hissing breath. "That's going to be a nasty bruise."

Leaning forward conspiratorially, he grins at Steve. "Ladies love that kind of thing, you know. I bet Sharon will be thrilled."

A troubled look crosses Steve's face for just a moment before he smiles back. "I'm sure she will. Have you heard from Nat lately?"

He allows the subject to change away from what's just happened, knowing it is too painful a conversation to continue. But the very real fear of something happening to Steve is all too obvious now and he isn't sure how to deal with it.


	5. There Was a Place That Could Have Been

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! I shall do my best not to let you down :)**

**5\. There was a place that could have been**

Three-two-five-five-seven-

Three-two-five-five-seven-

Three-two-five-five-seven-

It was a dark moment. Possibly his darkest thus far. The battle had been terrifying, horrifying. Unlike any of the others he'd been in. The march behind enemy lines was exhausting, endless. Until it had ended, and he'd been forced to work. He couldn't remember ever being so tired, not in basic, not in battle, not working several jobs in Brooklyn to make ends meet. But here he worked, automatically, endlessly, until he couldn't work anymore.

Three-two-five-five-seven-

He'd wondered, vaguely, what would happen to him now as he was moved from the prisoners' cells to some sort of medical bay. Maybe he would die. Maybe he would live. Somehow, he couldn't seem to care which one happened. Any end to this experience seemed like an improvement. Until they started hurting him and he realized things could get worse. Things could always get worse.

Three-two-five-five-seven-

When Steve appeared as if by magic above him, he ignored him. It was some trick, from the enemy or from his own fevered brain. Never mind the fact that he'd been steadily gaining his strength back (and maybe more?) during his time in this strange room. There was no way Steve could have gotten himself over here. It was far more likely that Steve had succumbed to his poor health, and they were both dead. He decided that was okay, then, if Steve was here. At least he wouldn't be alone. He was halfway into wondering who else he would soon see again when Steve pulled him to his feet and he was forced to focusing on moving forward, on getting out of here. It sure felt real, but who was he to say that meant anything?

Three-two-five-five-seven-

Steve explained his appearance in what could certainly be a fabrication of his confused state of mind. But he started to think maybe he was really being rescued, maybe Steve really had done something incredibly stupid to get himself here. It wasn't exactly out of character, since he'd been trying everything possible to go to war before he left. But then he saw the man who had hurt him, who'd done things to him while he was strapped to that bed. And he knew that much, at least, was real.

Three-two-five-five-seven-

After, when they'd gotten back to camp, the reality of what happened came crashing down on him. He wanted to sleep, but couldn't. The war hadn't been exactly easy to adjust to, but, even then, he found that he could somehow blend into the chaos and violence. It was almost easy. He really took to soldiering, he thinks bitterly. But the addition of gods and monsters was hard to bear, to come to terms with. And he'd struggled to keep Steve from knowing.

Three-two-five-five-seven-

"What's going on, Buck?" Steve asked, sitting down on the cot across from where he was seated. Back from debriefings or whatever super soldiers did. Steve seemed almost shy, looking at him as though he thought he'd never see him again. Which was accurate, he supposed.

"What the hell, Steve," he answered, not knowing how to express what he was thinking.

Steve's smile shifted to grim amusement. "I may not have thought this through."

His jaw clenched at that, and he'd glared at his friend. "What did you expect to happen to you, once you let the government – once you'd let them – " He stumbled over his words, trying not to admit what might be different about himself. What they might have been doing to him in that dark room. "Once they'd changed you," he finally muttered, looking down at his hands. Clenching and unclenching.

"I don't know," Steve admitted, looking as though he hadn't given it any thought.

When they'd cheered for him, when he'd led them to cheer, he'd thought about it. He'd thought about how his gentle friend was now a weapon. How they wouldn't let him go after this. How Steve would be working for them the rest of his life, and who knew how long that would be now? Steve may have gone to war to join him, allowed this to be done to be able to do what his friend was doing, but it had put Steve far above where he could ever reach. He'd spend the rest of the war, the rest of his life, trying to catch up. But how could he tell his friend that? Steve was excited, happy. Pleased with himself. Because he had no idea what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

"Well, maybe you should have at least asked about the retirement plan," he said, aware that Steve was starting to look concerned at his silence.

Grinning, Steve sat back. "I figured I should do something for them before I asked. You know, like rescue my best friend's sorry ass."

And he'd forced himself to joke back and smile, and make Steve think nothing was wrong. But Steve knew. As time went on, and the Howling Commandos was formed, it became harder and harder to keep how he felt from his friend. Steve didn't understand, though. He didn't know why they were no longer as close as they used to be. But he was too busy to dwell on it much.

Three-two-five-five-seven-

It was better working with the Howlies. They were good soldiers, good men, dedicated to the cause. They were also fun, especially Dugan. Most of his best memories were from that time of his life. Sure, they were risking their lives on a regular basis, and killing people on an equally regular basis, but it was to make the world a better place. HYDRA was unequivocally evil, at least the endgame, and had to be stopped. And that was easy to get behind.

Steve stuck by him, keeping an eye on him, though he tried not to act like he needed it. He couldn't admit that it upset him to consider that there was no going home for them. When the war ended, and it must end eventually, Steve would still be a national symbol. An asset to his government. Right now, he was being used to serve in a way that was clearly good. But who knew what they would want him for next? Politics were messy, and he'd unwittingly thrust himself into the hands of hundreds of politicians. He couldn't stand thinking about it.

There was more than that, of course. When the war ended, he'd go home to Brooklyn. To what he thought was going home to get hitched and set Steve up until he was, too. And then things would go back to normal. But he knew now that it wasn't an option. Steve might be easier to set up now, but it was unlikely they'd let him go enjoy a civilian life. Assuming Steve wanted that, which now he didn't know.

They'd wanted to be soldiers. They'd wanted to serve their country, but his father had been killed on base after spending most of his time serving their country rather than being at home. And he didn't want to do that to his own children. It was fine while they were young and unattached, but he didn't want to be a soldier for the rest of his life. He wanted something more than that. But did Steve? Or would he be happy this way? He couldn't go back, even if he wanted to. And he couldn't endure the idea that Steve might have gone through all of this and still not get what he wanted.

Three-two-five-five-seven-

So he kept his worries to himself and followed his best friend. Followed him into the jaws of death, but he'd been far more concerned with life. With what life they could have after this. But Steve hadn't seemed to care, to think about what happened after this, so he'd stayed focused. He'd focused on this fight, on this mission, on this recon. And he hadn't thought about how he seemed so much stronger, how quickly he healed from injuries, or how terrible nightmares invaded his sleep until he was too tired to think.

Three-two-five-five-seven-

And, when he fell, he couldn't help but think it must all have been a dream. He was still on that bed, strapped down and being tortured. How could he have thought his best friend was turned into a super soldier, a hero, that he'd been part of a team with a noble cause? It was the daydream of a broken soldier, and the reality was far more likely that he'd never escaped, that he'd always been in that factory, being experimented on by faceless men. So it didn't come as a surprise when he woke up.


	6. Step Over All That Used To Be

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing!**

**6\. Step over all that used to be**

He's remembered waking up at the bottom of the gorge. He's remembered being dragged, looking at the bloody stump in place of his arm. He's remembered the sound of the bone saw they used to cut away the flesh before attaching his arm. He doesn't remember that part, for which he is thankful, but he does remember waking up with it the first time. It was heavier, felt awkward. But it worked well enough when he tried to choke the nearest man. He hadn't been successful, of course, because he wasn't as fast back then. Now, he'd at least kill everyone in the room before they could bring him down. Which may or may not be a good thing.

The decades are a blur. Waking up to kill and going back to sleep. Most of his missions, as far as he can tell, relied more on stealth than destruction. But he was always good at that kind of thing. They hadn't managed to get him under control at the very beginning. Sometimes he refused to go, or didn't return to extraction points. Sometimes he spared the people he was sent to kill, or at least didn't hurt anyone who wasn't on the list. But that hadn't lasted long. They'd strapped him down again and invaded his brain. He doesn't know what they did or how they did it; the only records he's found don't go into much detail. Which might be for the best anyway.

They'd broken him down until he did just as he was told. Except that made it harder for missions to be completed efficiently. So he'd been given some of his autonomy back after he'd proven his loyalty. And life was a monotony of pain and death and bitter, bitter cold. But at least he had some power on missions, some ability to improvise and enjoy his freedom from dark rooms and darker cryo chambers. He'd learned quickly how much leeway he had before they would punish him.

Still, it didn't exactly make life worth living. Not that they allowed him to think of such a thing. They told him often enough of the difference he was making, the hero to the nation they'd turned him into. And he'd endured because he was always a survivor, even if it meant living through an unimaginable hell.

Until Natalia.

He doesn't know why they chose him to train the girls in the Black Widow program. Surely someone else could have taught them hand-to-hand combat and how to act American, someone besides a weaponized ghost. But he'd been chosen, and he applied himself to the task with the same dedication he always exhibited. And they were pleased.

The girls were afraid of him; he could see it in their eyes the first time they were brought into the padded room where they would train. At that point, the remaining girls were in their late teens or early twenties. As near as he could tell; they weren't encouraged to keep track of such things. He'd assessed them all carefully and identified their weaknesses quickly. They had previous combat training, but these were the best of them. Perhaps he was the only person the Red Room had at their disposal who was better. He'd had decades to train, after all, as well as some natural aptitude. Or maybe it was an unnatural aptitude.

There were ten girls then. He doesn't remember them very well, at least not in terms of appearance or personality. He does remember their weaknesses and strengths regarding combat readiness. Natalia was the only one of them about whom he had noticed more than was absolutely necessary. And it wasn't because of his programming or an attempt to break out of it. It was because she wasn't like the others.

After the first time they'd sparred, she'd stayed behind to ask him for pointers. The others had fled, some tearfully, as soon as they had lost. But not her. She'd pulled herself to her feet and walked over to him, almost managing to hide the soreness in her muscles. In all the decades since he'd fallen from that damn train, no one had talked to him like she had. It wasn't that she was warm or affectionate, not that first time. She just asked him a question like he was a person, someone allowed to have opinions and ideas and who could help her get better. Somehow, he hid his surprise at how such a small gesture made him feel (or, more accurately, that it made him feel). He'd told her what she wanted to know. And, when they fought again the next day, she'd clearly taken his advice to heart.

He doesn't know how long he was there, how long it was that he trained young assassins in red rooms hidden deep underground. He wasn't sent on any missions outside, and each day was roughly the same. The highpoint was always Natalia's sessions. At the beginning, the whole group was always there, and she was just one of those he fought. But, later, the lessons became tailor-made to the individual girls and it was hours of just the two of them, alone in the room, almost dancing around each other.

Perhaps it was sloppy of his masters to have allowed it, to let him get close to anyone. But there were other girls with whom he spent the same measure of time, and there was no danger from them. They were afraid, afraid of his metal arm, his cold eyes, his deadly reputation. Natalia, always pragmatic, saw him as an asset, an expert who could help her, rather than a monster, just another barrier to be overcome to earn the Black Widow title. They were determined, driven, like she was. But they didn't see how similar they were to the Winter Soldier, and she did.

* * *

He'd gotten fast, faster than he ever would have training alone. His own limbs were a blur as he drove her across the mats, jumping back to avoid his blows in a purely defensive stance. But when they reached the wall, she suddenly ran up it to launch herself at his shoulders. Her legs wrapped around him in what would later be her signature move, and she used her momentum to bring him down while also cutting off his oxygen supply. It wasn't as effective that first time as it would become, but it did give him pause. Once he could get a grip on her, he threw her with all his force against the wall.

The effort was bone-rattling, and she slid to the ground and stayed there. He slowly rose to his feet, his right hand straying to his throat to rub at it as he tentatively approached her. When he got close enough to begin wondering what the protocol was for injured, possibly dead, trainees, her eyes snapped open and she kicked his legs out from under him. Caught by surprise, he dropped heavily onto the mats, then stared up at her as she stood over him, a smirk on her face.

"Good work," he said softly, and her smile grew. She offered her hand, and pulled him to his feet when he took it.

"Thank you, sir." When he was standing, she took a few steps back and seemed ready for an attack.

"Where did you learn that?" he asked instead.

Hesitancy flickered in her eyes before a genuine smile appeared on her lips. "I adapted it from one of our dance moves," she explained, almost shyly.

"It was well-done. If you approached a little more to the right, you'd have been able to get a better grip," he offered.

Her nod was appreciative as a bell rang somewhere in the building. It seemed to startle her, and she looked away toward it. "Session over," she said softly, directing her gaze back to him.

"So it seems," he answered, wondering at her behavior. "Until tomorrow, trainee."

"Tomorrow, Soldier," she responded flatly, before turning away and leaving the room. He couldn't shake the expectation that she might look back at him, but she didn't.

* * *

Their fights after that became less rigid and formal-feeling. She told him stories while they stretched, some of them true, and he offered her more praise on her moves than the other girls. Of course, she was better than them. More innovative. He gave her more advice, seeing that she would use it right away. Sometimes she even advised him back. He found himself thinking about her between sessions, first about how to improve her abilities, and then about more than that.

He realized, possibly for the first time, that there could be some joy in his life. Duty was paramount, but serving his country alongside someone else, a friend, made such a significant difference. He knew she would not be around forever, that he was just her trainer, but he couldn't imagine going back to how things were before. He didn't think of her as more than a friend, and perhaps not even that. An ally, maybe. His vocabulary didn't involve many terms for those he didn't have to kill. But she was not as broken as he was, and she saw their connection differently.

Her training took up more and more of his days as it became apparent that she benefited the most from his tutelage. The other girls worked with him one or twice a week, but Natalia spent almost every afternoon sparring with him. One day, she was practicing with knives. He was especially adept with those, and was not armed himself. Just disarming her and dodging her attacks. She didn't like it when he just waited for her to attack him. Her attacks became faster and less accurate when she was angry, but she drove him back against the wall and he was forced to retaliate to keep from being backed into a corner.

But she flipped a knife around and pressed it to his throat. And he smiled at her. "I concede," he told her.

Her eyes narrowed at him, and she didn't move away. "Why won't you attack me properly?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Questioning your training?"

"No, my trainer. Soldier, I can take it if you attack me."

"I know. But that's not what we're doing here today," he explained calmly, ignoring the knife-edge nicking his skin. "I'm trying to help you become the best."

She stared at him intently, making him wonder if he'd said something he shouldn't. "Why is that important to you?"

"It's my mission," he answered, surprised.

Her gaze flickered away for a moment, then back. "Why me?"

He licked his lips uncertainly. Why her? Why not the others? "I like you," he replied quietly, discarding the more logical reasons he could have supplied.

Without warning, she leaned forward to press her lips against his for a brief moment before breaking away, a smirk on her face. A smirk that he sometimes imagined was only for him. "That's what I thought. Again?" she asked, stepping back and into a defensive stance. He smiled genuinely in response and prepared to attack, pushing away the thought that he'd never felt more light on his feet.


	7. Since You Have Let Yourself Come In

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing!**

**7\. Since you have let yourself come in**

They were tentative, at first. Neither was accustomed to using their hands for anything besides violence and death. But their sessions began to involve stolen kisses, carefully planned movements to end up close to each other. Until that wasn't enough, and he'd snuck into her room whenever he could. It was addictive, to touch her and talk to her and feel like a human being. So they'd become reckless and were discovered.

The door burst open and men in combat gear rushed into the room, pulling them apart. He'd clung to her as long as he could, but neither of them made a sound as he was dragged away. It wasn't as though they hadn't expected it to end this way, despite their hopeful discussions of escape. Their silence did not stop the men from talking to them, though he ignored the cruel jeers directed at him and Natalia. They didn't understand.

When they brought him to the room with the chair, he balked at the doorway and had to be pushed through. As he was shoved into the apparatus, he heard a sharp gasp, and was upset to see Natalia had been brought along, too. Then he fought, likely killing several of the men before they had successfully restrained him. He met Natalia's gaze, trying to look reassuring, but she stared at him in horror. And then the machine whirred to life and he screamed and screamed.

* * *

He remembers waking up on that chair, confused by the anxious group of soldiers standing around him. The sight of a tearful woman staring at him from where she knelt by the door was more perplexing, and he frowned at her, trying to understand. That set her crying more, and he looked around for some explanation. One of the men spoke, snarling, to her in words too soft for him to hear, and they'd dragged her away, leaving him in the chair. Until one of his familiar handlers showed up and began briefing him. He'd tried to forget the woman, but it was so out of his ordinary experience that it stuck in his mind.

They hadn't let him train anyone after that, and he'd spent a long time in cryo, he knows. A few short missions brought him out, but they no longer seemed sure what to do with him. A change in management, perhaps. Things settled back into the routine to which he'd grown accustomed, and the years are blurry again. Until he saw her outside Odessa. Shot her. Finished his mission but not killed her. They'd left him in cryo after that, until they needed him to bring down SHIELD. And Captain America.

He sits up, running his fingers through his hair tiredly. It's apparent he's not going to get any more sleep for a while. Looking at the clock on his bedside table, he is surprised to see that it's not even midnight. The dreams that woke him came earlier than usual. Slowly, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and rubs his face. Not being able to sleep is a common problem for him and he heads to the living room to watch television for a while. Well, to have the machine on; he usually doesn't pay much attention to it.

When he opens his door, he immediately presses himself against the wall inside his room as he notices a light on in the kitchen. Steve has a key, he reminds himself, but moves silently toward the room anyway. The refrigerator is open, hiding the intruder behind the door, and he pauses by the counter just in case.

"Can I help you?" he asks quietly.

Glass clinks and the door closes a little, Natalia peering out at him. She smiles. "You could keep more real food around," she suggests.

He smiles slowly at her, still thinking of their past. "Sorry, I – uh, I'm not used to having a lot of food around," he mutters.

A concerned expression crosses her face and she walks over to him, closing the fridge door behind her. "Don't sweat it, James. It's not a big deal," she says gently, watching him closely.

Licking his lips, he looks past her for some explanation of her presence. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, his gaze settles on her face. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

Smirking, she leans back against the counter near him. "You want me to leave?"

"No, I just – " he begins.

"I'm kidding, James. Things were… Well, missions were easier before I blew all my covers. Fury sent us back, and Clint said I should find somewhere to hide out. I figured you wouldn't mind," she explains, softening a little during the last sentence.

His brow furrows as she describes the mission. "I'm glad you're back," he says.

"Sorry I woke you," she replies, still looking concerned.

He shakes his head slowly. "I wasn't asleep."

"Nightmares?"

"Not exactly." She waits, watching him carefully. He clears his throat, looking away. "I was remembering things."

"What kinds of things?" She moves almost imperceptibly closer to him, and he turns his gaze back to her.

"The Commandos. The Red Room."

Nodding, she bites her lip. "Are you okay?"

A grim smile crosses his face. "As good as can be expected, I suppose."

Her expression doesn't change significantly, but no longer seems quite so open. She moves away, back to the kitchen, and gets herself a glass of water. "So, what have you been up to while I was gone?" she asks lightly.

"Not much. Went on a mission with Steve," he offers.

Something in his tone must have betrayed his feelings, because she looks at him sharply. "What happened?"

"He was shot. He's fine," he answers shortly.

"But you're not."

Sighing heavily, he inspects his hands as though he'll find some answer there. "The last time… When he got hurt before. It was because of me," he whispers.

Her hands invade his field of vision as she takes his in her own. Even the left one, he thinks. "It wasn't you," she tells him firmly when he looks up at her.

Looking down again, he shakes his head. "Things done with my hands," he replies, voice still soft.

"It wasn't you, James," she repeats, squeezing his fingers. "You'd never hurt Steve."

"But I have. I've hurt you, too," he mumbles painfully.

Dropping his right hand, she gently lifts his chin so he has to look at her. He doesn't move under the warmth of her touch. "What did you remember about the Red Room?" she asks.

His eyes narrow slightly at the question. "I remember everything, Natalia, and you were the one good thing in all of it," he says emphatically.

Her lips twitch toward a smile, but she continues to look at him seriously. "Did you hurt me then?"

He considers. "Sometimes, in training. And at the end."

"You didn't hurt me in our training room. Not any more than I hurt you. You just made me better. How did you hurt me at the end?" she insists.

"They made you watch," he whispers.

Her eyes close and a pained expression passes over her face. Then she looks at him again, gently moving her hand along his cheek. "How was that you hurting me?"

"Because – because, when it was over, I didn't know you."

"James, that was the point. Of course you wouldn't know me, after what they did," she explains, almost exasperated.

He shakes his head slowly, careful not to dislodge her hand. "I've broken through before. I broke through when I saw Steve. I could have – "

She silences him with an insistent kiss, and he loses track of what he was going to say. When she breaks away, she smiles at him gently. "No, James, you couldn't have. Not then. But you're free now. And you can do whatever you want."

"Thank you, Natalia," he answers softly, pulling her hesitantly closer.

"For what?" she asks as she slides into his arms, her fingers resting on his neck and on the small of his back.

He pauses, closing his eyes. "For making me feel human," he says at last.


	8. Some Things I'd Rather You Not See

**A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews! I definitely don't reread them all day with a stupid grin on my face ;)**

**8\. Some things I'd rather you not see**

The snow was cold and all around him. Or was it the river? People were dragging him places, places he didn't care to go. He didn't mind being left there, in the snow, to die. It was alright, he wanted to say to them. The mission was over, they didn't need to fuss. But they did, and he woke up. And they hurt him, first his arm and then his head and then put him to sleep again.

He was confused and disoriented when they brought him out. He was cold again, covered in ice. They spoke to him in other languages he was surprised to find he knew. Then they sent him out, often into snow, and he eliminated threats. Any kind of threat, from senior officials to children. If he was told, he went. And he killed efficiently and quickly. Then he was put back in that chamber of ice until they needed him again. Sometimes, when he woke up, he stared down at his hands as if he'd never seen them before, as if they were unfamiliar and part of someone else. Some other person who did these horrible things with them. But, no, it was him. He snapped necks and pulled triggers and threw grenades, for no other reason than because they told him to.

Sometimes they could tell he was upset, and they'd tell him how important his work was. And he'd listen patiently to their explanations. Sometimes he'd believe them and go back to work. More often, he wouldn't, and they'd have to hurt him. Recalibrate him, get him back on track to address the mission. They told him how important that was, too. And he let it happen because, really, what else was he going to do? He didn't know who he was or where he could go or anything outside of the chamber, the training room, and missions. There was nothing else.

Except sometimes he was reminded of – something. Something he didn't understand, but only when he was on a mission. From the way being in that American city made him feel to the tearful gaze of the woman who protected his target with her body to the shocked recognition on the face of the man on the bridge. If he talked about those things, and others that were more subtle, they'd exchange looks of distress and strap him down to hurt him again. But he had to know, and maybe this time they would tell him.

* * *

He wakes up in a cold sweat, his blanket twisted uncomfortably around his body. Blinking in confusion, he stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling, sitting up abruptly to survey his surroundings. Then he remembers he is on his couch, in his living room. It's still dark outside, so he must have just been awakened by a nightmare. He can go back to sleep. Hesitantly, he lies back against the cushions, trying to slow his heart rate and focus on settling his jangled nerves. The door to his bedroom opens, and he stares at the emerging figure with wide eyes.

Natalia. Of course. He let her stay in his room while he stayed out here. That's all. She looks concerned and he supposes he must have been screaming. "James," she says quietly, gently, as she approaches cautiously. The way a person should approach something feral. He sits up sharply again, trying ineffectually to calm himself, but he can't keep his gaze from darting around the room, in search of some threat. Natalia continues to move toward him until she is about two feet away, at which point she kneels and looks up at him. He stares at her, hands clenched tightly to his blanket.

"James," she murmurs again. "You're safe here. They can't hurt you anymore." He nods slowly, his tense muscles loosening ever so slightly. "In fact, you destroyed all of their capabilities of hurting you or anyone else like that ever again," she adds, smiling gently. It's not a smirk, not what he's used to seeing on her face, but he feels a little better anyway.

"How did they do it, Natalia?" he whispers, gaze fixed on her face.

"Do what, James?" she asks, holding out her hand.

Tentatively, he lets go of the blanket to take it, and she squeezes his fingers reassuringly. "Take away all the good stuff but leave the bad," he offers.

Her face softens and she shakes her head slowly. "I don't know, James. Were you remembering something?"

He mimics her movement. "No. Nothing new, anyway. I was just… contemplating my actions for the last seventy years," he says, his voice sounding almost back to normal.

She smiles grimly. "Everyone has red in their ledger, James."

"Even you?"

"Especially me."

"What do you do, so you can sleep at night?" he wonders, half expecting her to avoid answering.

She bites her lip and looks down at their clasped hands. "I think of the good things I've done. The important people in my life. And I try to remember that I was a weapon to be used, that my actions, the destruction I caused, weren't entirely up to me."

Hesitantly, he runs his thumb across her hand. "Are you successful?"

"Not always," she answers honestly. "But it gets easier to believe. To accept."

He sighs, letting out the tension in his body. "I hope so."

She looks up at him again, appraisingly, and he wonders what she is considering. He waits patiently for her to speak again, to break the stillness and remind him that he is alive and not a machine and human and not alone.

"James," she asks for his attention. He gives it to her immediately, focusing on her face. His scattered thoughts remind him how beautiful she is and he wonders what the hell she's doing here with him. "James, do you wake up like this frequently?"

He blinks, trying to remember. Oh, how much of his time does he spend trying to remember things? When will it be easier? "Sometimes," he murmurs.

"You don't have to tell me, James, but I was just wondering… Why are you living here by yourself? Why aren't you staying with Steve?" she adds when he looks perplexed.

Pressing his lips together, he looks away from her. How many times has he asked himself that same question? "That's not how it's supposed to be," he says finally.

"What do you mean?" she asks, gentle.

He shakes his head, pulling his hand away from hers to cradle his head in both hands. "When we were young… Steve always looked up to me. Always trusted me to be the stronger of us. Even after he became a damn super soldier, he wanted to look up to me. To show me he could keep up with me, now. So, when I came back after all of this… He wanted to be there for me like I'd always been there for him. But I couldn't… I didn't want him to see me. Like this. See what I've become. It made him so angry."

She is silent during his halting explanation, but her brow furrows and she is frowning at him by the end. "So it's better to be alone and terrified?" she demands, sounding a little angry herself.

A sigh escapes him, and he sits back to look at her. "If I'm here, Steve doesn't have to know how… How I am now."

"How are you now, James?" she asks softly.

He frowns deeply, staring past her. "Broken," he whispers.

"You are not broken," she says with surprising vehemence, getting to her feet. He stares up at her, confused. She's angry again, making no effort to hide it. "They wanted to make a perfect weapon, and, by God, they did. But just because you aren't him anymore doesn't mean you're broken. You're not malfunctioning, James. You're just being – " she pauses, looking at him intently. "Human," she echoes his word from earlier back at him.

A grim smile stretches his lips. "Do most people wake up like this?" he questions.

She grabs both of his hands and pulls him to his feet, facing her. He looks down at her, slightly amused by her ire. Why should she care so much about the fate of a guy like him? "Most people haven't gone through what you have. But you survived. And here you are, still surviving. So you may not sleep as much as everyone else. But we aren't like everyone else, James. So don't compare yourself to them," she insists.

"Then to whom should I compare myself? Steve? Because that's not going to end well for anyone," he replies.

Shaking her head, she seems almost disappointed. "James, you were with me in the Red Room. You may not have been completely yourself, but you were getting closer every day. And you taught me how to reclaim myself from those monsters. Even if you don't remember it, I owe you for that."

He frowns, surprised. "I did?"

"Yes, James."

Slowly, he looks down at his hands again. "You were the one good thing," he echoes very quietly what he'd told her earlier.

She takes both of his hands and leans over to meet his eye. "I know you think you've only done terrible things. But I've seen you do some impressive things with your hands. And I don't think, James, that you should sleep out here anymore. Come with me," she insists, turning and pulling him back toward his bedroom. He's never been more willing to follow an order.


	9. Didn't It Seem Like Something More

**A/N: As always, thank you so much for reviewing! (White Bishop, I am getting yours even if it isn't posting them, so keep them coming, please! They're great!)**

**9\. Didn't it seem like something more**

His phone buzzes and he looks down at it for a moment, perplexed. It was common for him to have some means of communication on his person when he was sent out on missions, especially after they lost him in New York once. Sometimes that meant a phone, but he's not used to the practice of having one all the time. The fact that it is only a text message is somehow comforting, and he waits a moment before picking up the device to read it.

'Mission with Barton. Join us? Extraction in 30 minutes :)'

From Natalia. He frowns slightly, uncertainly. She hadn't mentioned a mission when she'd left a few days earlier. 'Okay,' he responds.

The mission gear he wore as the Soldier was long gone. He couldn't bear wearing it anymore, even if he was attacking HYDRA and it might mean something to them. With some help from Steve, he had found tactically similar clothing that had none of the connotations. The trousers were black and possessed many pockets for supplies, and the boots were also black and had good treads. He wore a belt containing a few pouches for grenades or magazines, and the tight-fitting black shirt had removable sleeves so he could choose whether he wanted to reveal his arm or not. It was often useful to have it uncovered, to prevent overheating, but it did keep him from being anonymous. He had a mask, not at all similar to his old one, if he needed it and usually wore finger-less gloves on both hands.

'Come outside.'

He stops studying his hands when the phone buzzes, and then picks up a bag containing his disassembled rifle and a few pistols. HYDRA always kept him well-supplied with weaponry, and he finds it uncomfortable to go on missions without it. Natalia must feel similarly, as her safe houses always contain what could only be called an armory. Most of his arsenal he has gotten from her; Steve prefers to just use his shield.

A truck is pulled up next to the curb and he sees her inside, smiling at him when he steps outside his building. He sees Barton in the back seat, and gives him a nod, trying to ignore his nervousness as he opens the door and climbs into the passenger seat.

"Hello, James," Natalia says as she drives them away from his apartment.

"Hello," he replies quietly.

"How's it going, Barnes?" Barton asks.

"Not bad. And yourself?" he answers automatically.

Barton smiles grimly; he can see him in the side mirror. "Well, you know, I keep finding myself less and less employable. It's starting to look like I should go back to the damn circus," he says, but his tone is casual.

"Clint used to be in a circus," Natalia explains with a smirk.

"I think he could figure that out from context, 'Tasha," Barton interjects, rolling his eyes.

He looks between them silently, uncertainly. Being on missions with Steve and Sam is much more… transparent. Spies are more complicated. "Where are we going?" he asks.

Barton makes an exasperated noise. "You're dragging him along and you don't even tell him the op? What's going on with you, 'Tasha?"

"I just thought he could use a reason to get out of the house. We all could, don't you think?" she adds, a little sharply.

Barton falls silent, looking out the window. He wonders what they'd been doing since he last saw them. "Anyway, James, it's not a big deal. We're just going a little ways out of town to check on some assets of Fury's. I'm sure it's nothing any one of us couldn't handle, but I figured you fellas would appreciate something to do."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you think it's important that I don't wander around in my robe all day, but I don't really see what the problem is," Barton grumbles.

Natalia gives him a quelling look, and he goes back to looking out the window. "In any case, Fury sent me and recent events indicate that backup is a good idea even when we think we know what we're getting into."

"Oh, 'Tasha, next you'll be saying we need to insist on having an extraction plan before we jump in," Barton says with a grin.

She smiles back at him. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. Besides, we have James."

Barton looks at him appraisingly, and he raises an eyebrow in response to the scrutiny. "So, what do you say, Barnes? You good enough to get us out of any situation 'Tasha throws us into?"

He considers a moment before answering. "Extraction of friendlies isn't really my area of expertise," he offers. Barton waits, expression prompting. "But I know how to clear a path."

"That's what I've heard. I can't wait to see you in action, man." Barton leans forward to clap him on the shoulder, then sits back, a pleased look on his face. "So, you been on any missions with Cap lately?"

"Yeah. Sam and I helped him free some prisoners from a HYDRA facility about a week ago."

"That sounds like extraction to me," Barton says, almost reassuringly.

He can't get a good read on the man. He seems like he would be distant, aloof, to strangers, but then seems oddly concerned about him. Perhaps Natalia has something to do with it, but he's not sure. It seems like something else. "Well, I wasn't much involved in the prisoner aspect of the mission," he explains.

"What did you do, then?"

Licking his lips, he glances out the window to his right. "I eliminated potential threats."

Barton looks at Natalia through the rearview mirror, questioning. "He means he snuck into the barracks and wiped them out," she explains, no judgment in her voice.

The archer nods appreciatively. "Glad to have you along then, Barnes."

Either Natalia undersold the mission, or her data was woefully inaccurate. The assets of Fury's she was sent to look into are hard copies of files. They are hidden in an office building that, up until recently, was maintained to appear in business. When SHIELD fell, the resources for that sort of stunt were no longer available, and it's become obvious that no one ever worked there. At least, it was obvious to him as soon as they see it. Perhaps others were not so quick at reading the signs.

In any case, it appears quiet enough as Natalia parks their vehicle and they climb out. They wouldn't pass for civilians, but may not obviously be agents. When they walk across the parking lot, the silence is eerie, and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He's glad he has some knives on him, so he won't have to take the time searching through his bag before he can defend himself. Not that he can't hold his own with his bare hands, of course.

Natalia leads the way directly to the door, Barton taking a more circuitous route to check the perimeter. He follows Natalia, but keeps an eye on their retreat. At the door, she begins typing something into the keypad beside it, and he hangs back a few feet. Something she presses must be wrong, because an alarm begins to sound. She flashes a self-effacing smile at him before trying again.

Suddenly, shots ring out and Barton dives toward them, hissing at a graze in his upper arm. The shooter is in a room somewhere above, and they are too close to the building to be in direct range. He looks expectantly at Natalia, waiting for orders. She finishes inputting the key code and this time the door opens.

"What's the plan?" Barton asks, pressing a hand to his wound and frowning.

She shrugs. "We go get the files and take out anyone in our way. Who wants to go first?"

He's momentarily thrown by the lack of orders, but then he has an important question. "Who's shooting at us?"

Barton laughs. "I have no idea, man. Someone always seems to be."

"No, I mean, what kind of people would be holed up here, waiting for intruders?"

Natalia shrugs. "HYDRA, I imagine. Maybe AIM. Not SHIELD, though."

He nods. "Okay, let's go."

Though he often led a team with Steve, this is different. Steve always went first into combat; he only went first if stealth was involved. But he's been itching for something to do, he realizes, and this is where he feels most comfortable, after all. He won't dwell on what that means for him and focuses on the mission at hand.

It doesn't take long. There aren't more than two dozen men guarding the building, and the three of them take everyone down easily. Within half an hour, they have the files and are back in Natalia's vehicle, heading home. They have a few scratches and bruises, but are otherwise unharmed. He doesn't think about the proportion of threats he eliminated single-handedly.

"I don't know how I let you talk me into these things," Barton grumbles, rubbing at a bruise already forming on his forehead.

"Into what?" she asks sweetly.

"'Tasha, every time I've been on the mission with you in the last two years, I've gotten a head injury. If you're trying to make sure there aren't any residual effects from what that bastard did to me, you can stop. I'm in control."

He glances sharply at Barton, but he's looking down and misses the movement. Natalia laughs lightly, but catches his reaction. "Well, you know, a cognitive recalibration is important from time to time. Your place first?"

"Yeah."

The drive to Barton's place, as he supposes it must be, is silent. Return trips from missions often were with Steve and them, too. When they drop off Barton, he hugs Natalia, somewhat awkwardly as she's still in the driver's seat, then nods at him. "Good working with you, Barnes. See you next time," he adds, before turning away.

Natalia waits until he disappears into the building before pulling away. "You know about the Chitauri?" she asks seriously.

He blinks, bringing his thoughts back to the present. "The things that attacked New York?"

"Yes. They were led by Loki, Thor's brother."

Nodding, he turns to face her. "I know that."

"Clint was captured by Loki, and he used some kind of magic to control him. When he fought me, I knocked him out and that brought him back," she explains emotionlessly.

His brow furrows slightly as he digests this. "So my trying to kill you while brainwashed wasn't really a unique experience for you?"

A startled laugh escapes her, and she glances over at him to grin. "That's not exactly what I was getting at, but you're right."

"Good to know."


	10. So Long I Can't Remember When

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing!**

**10\. So long I can't remember when**

"Come on, Bucky, Sam's waiting downstairs," Steve says, leaning against the frame of the front door to the apartment.

He sighs heavily, pulling on his shoes. Not boots. "I don't think I can do this," he mutters, fixing his gloves carefully to conceal his arm.

Steve smiles reassuringly. "Don't worry, Buck. If you can't, we'll get you out of there quickly."

Considering whether or not he should sigh again, he just shakes his head and gets to his feet. Steve steps back into the hallway to give him room to lock the door behind them, then leads the way out of the building. He follows silently, trying with difficulty to keep from pulling at his gloves nervously. He supposes he should be pleased to be able to wear civilian clothes, instead of combat gear. Appreciate the little things, he reminds himself. He's at least comfortable.

Sam is waiting in the car, glancing at them briefly as they approach. "Hey, Buck," he says kindly when he climbs in the back seat, Steve in the front.

"Sam," he replies, settling himself somewhat awkwardly. "This your car?"

"Yeah, brand new. Something happened to my other one. I can't remember what," Sam jokes, grinning at him in the rear view mirror.

Steve laughs shortly. "It was pretty hard to drive, you know, not very responsive."

His confusion must show because Sam's expression sobers. "We were in my car when, you know, we met on the highway."

Biting his lip, he nods and looks out the window. "Sorry about that," he murmurs.

"Don't sweat it, man. Wasn't you."

He resists the urge to deny it, and they lapse into an uncomfortable silence. Steve glances back at him, then looks at Sam. "Well," he says abruptly, drawing their attention to him. "We are going to need to blend in. We're just trying to tail these guys, not engage them, so follow my lead."

"Your lead?" he asks, politely incredulous.

Sam grins at him. "I was going to say, man… The only reason you survived being on the run before was because Nat knows how to be undercover. I'm pretty sure Captain America doesn't do a whole lot of that." He glances back for confirmation.

"Yeah, that was always my job during the war," he agrees.

Steve sighs heavily. "I've gotten a lot better, Buck. And I paid attention to Nat's advice, so I think I'll be fine."

Sam shakes his head slowly. "I don't doubt your abilities, Steve. I'm just saying I'm going to copy Bucky instead."

"Fine, that's why we brought him along anyway."

He licks his lips, the brief look passing between the two of them not going unnoticed. "Was that the only reason?" he asks.

The awkwardness Steve feels is immediately obvious in his body language. "Well, no. Nat suggested we take you. And I figured, after last time…" He trails off, a worried look on his face.

Everyone's always trying to take care of him, he thinks, wondering if he'll ever be able to repay all of this. "It's fine. I'm sure it'll be a good experience," he says casually.

Sam can see through him, watching him through the side mirror, but Steve allows himself to be reassured. "Great. So, anyway, we will have to sneak in…"

* * *

Somehow, this mission doesn't go according to plan, either. There are far more enemy agents than were expected. It's nothing the three of them can't handle, and he contemplates whether he prefers doing this with Steve and Sam or with Natalia and Barton. It's impossible to decide; the experiences are too different. But following Steve always makes him feel like he's on familiar ground, and that is certainly a pleasant sensation. Even if it is when he's having to kill people.

He ducks back behind the wall to reload while Steve covers him. "I'd have thought SHIELD would have better intel," he says conversationally.

Sam and Steve exchange a look. "What do you mean?" Steve asks.

"Well, you know, this sort of situation is not one I'm used to wandering into without warning," he explains, confused by their reaction. He pulls a grenade out of his belt and tosses it toward the enemy. After it goes off, they quickly move forward before taking cover behind some crates as shots ring out from somewhere ahead of them.

"Nick Fury sent us here," Steve answers quietly as they reload their weapons.

"Not SHIELD?" he guesses.

Sam nods grimly. "SHIELD isn't… We don't work for them anymore," Steve continues, glancing sharply at Sam.

"I see," he mutters before getting to his feet and taking down their assailants with a few well-aimed shots. "Let's go."

Conversation is delayed until they've progressed closer to the outside of the building. Then it is focused more on tactically advantageous positions, rather than what brought them there. But he can't help but feel surprised by the fact that no one has mentioned this to him before now. It does explain a lot, though.

"Fury isn't in charge of SHIELD? Who is, then?" he asks as the dust clears and they find themselves without any more opponents.

At a signal from Steve, Sam goes to ensure there aren't any traps between them and their vehicle. "Don't worry about it, Buck," Steve insists as they hang back to cover him.

He lets the conversation drop, seeing Steve's expression.

* * *

"You know, sometimes I wish you'd never met Dr. Erskine," he says quietly as he sinks into the chair across from Steve in his own kitchen. Sam dropped them both off after the mission.

Steve glances up sharply. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugs. "Life was a lot simpler before."

Frowning deeply, Steve assesses him. Trying to read his expression. "If it weren't for Dr. Erskine, I would never have managed to leave Brooklyn."

A small smile graces his lips at the unspoken statement. "I realize it would mean you would have never rescued me from the factory," he reassures Steve. "For which I'm very grateful. But who knows what might have happened."

"Bucky… They were torturing you," Steve says painfully.

He shakes his head. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what is?"

Taking a deep breath, he looks away, out the window. "I know you hated being left behind. But you might have had a normal life, gotten married, had some kids. Not been frozen for decades, see your lady friend as an old woman, rescue your best friend from a horrible fate." He shrugs, focusing on Steve again. "I'm just thinking you might have been happy."

"You don't think I'm happy now?"

Steve's face is concerned, but in an almost expressionless way. "No, I don't," he answers earnestly. "I don't know what you're not telling me, but I can see that you're upset. More than I've ever seen you. You can tell me, Steve," he says gently, leaning forward to look at his friend.

Steve shakes his head slowly. "You did great on the mission today. Sam says you've been making great progress since… After everything. But you're not ready yet. I'll tell you when you are."

His frown deepens, and he purses his lips. "Steve, I can take whatever you have to tell me."

Standing, Steve pats his shoulder before heading toward the door. "I'm sure you can, Buck. So maybe it's on me."

He watches silently as Steve leaves the apartment, locking the door behind him. And wonders what he's stumbled onto.


	11. All This Has Happened All Before

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed! I really enjoy reading those, so please keep it up! :)**

**11\. All this has happened all before**

Once, he was part of a team. He was part of something special. They were saving the world, and it was easy to forget how dangerous their mission was. Casualties were unheard of and every plan came off successfully. Perhaps not exactly how Steve originally intended, but they achieved the goal nonetheless. It was a great team effort, where all ideas were welcomed and everyone had their own individual ways to contribute.

It had always been his job to scout ahead, to take care of recon. Even from the first mission. Prior to Steve joining the war, he doesn't remember doing that kind of task. There hadn't been any training to hone that skill in particular. He had been just like the other soldiers, if perhaps a bit more adept than average. So he doesn't know why Steve immediately gave that job to him, and why he had done so well at it right off the bat. Though Steve's perceptiveness cannot be discounted.

Perhaps it had something to do with his natural aptitude for protection. He'd protected his family ever since he was a child and his father spent so much time on base, and it had only increased when his father had died. And then there was Steve, of course, who was clearly much in need of protecting. Though he had to do it in a less obvious way, so not to wound Steve's pride. But it was ingrained in him to take care of people. And being a scout meant looking ahead and into danger before anyone else, burdened with the knowledge that the work might mean the difference between life and death for his friends. So he had taken it very seriously, and that's what was needed.

Most of his missions with the Howlies are fuzzy and run together, but he thinks of them often. Particularly after the missions he does now, with Natalia or Steve. He isn't sure which he prefers, but doesn't feel quite as comfortable in either case as he did during the war. Perhaps that is because his missions are no longer overt, despite the chaos that often erupts before the end of them. They are all supposed to be stealthy and go unnoticed. So maybe he just misses things being clearer and having his own job.

It seems that things are being kept from him and that makes him extremely uncomfortable. It was always his preference to have as much information as possible before acting, and the feeling was further driven home during the war. And after it, he supposes. He could never do his job without knowing all the facts, or discovering them himself. The apparent reality of Steve hiding something important from him, and being in the dark for possibly months, is disturbing.

He sits at his kitchen table, unmoving since Steve left. Eventually, he stopped staring after him and now just surveys the room absently as he considers what the issue could possibly be. He had attributed Steve's reticence when it came to talking about Sharon to his well-known awkwardness with women. But perhaps it has something to do with SHIELD instead. He doesn't understand why Steve wouldn't tell him, and makes up all kinds of theories to explain his behavior, each more upsetting than the last.

Finally, he goes to get his phone and calls Natalia. She's always been straight with him.

"Hello, James," she says pleasantly after the second ring. "How'd the mission go?"

"Fine," he replies shortly. "What is Steve not telling me?"

There is a pause before she answers with a forced unconcern that sets him on edge. "I have no idea. I'm sure there are any number of things he hasn't told you," she explains almost soothingly.

"Natalia." She falls silent, waiting. "What's happening with SHIELD?" he presses.

He can hear her breathe in slowly, then let the breath out. "They figured we shouldn't tell you."

'They' presumably refers to Steve and Sam. "Please, Natalia. Steve's a wreck. I just want to know why."

The line is silent while she considers. "Nick's on the run. We're all lying low right now because we don't want to be found."

"By SHIELD?" he asks, startled.

"By anyone. After we brought down SHIELD, things were… complicated. Messy. Chaotic. Take your pick. Nick was gone, thought dead. Maria and I were being questioned. Steve was in the wind. So they had to find someone to pick up the pieces. Look, James, I don't want to go into all of this."

"Alright," he mutters resignedly.

She sighs. "The problem started when Steve came back, and it only got worse after what happened with the other Avengers. We aren't… all on the same page right now."

Frowning deeply, he stares at the pattern on the table in front of him, thinking. "So we don't work for SHIELD."

"Not anymore, not as things stand. If they had more manpower, they might try to bring us in. As it is, they mostly leave us alone because they know what we really do. But they're under pressure to question us."

"You mean they want to bring me in," he says flatly as things settle into place.

"James –"

"Steve's not the problem. I am. He could work for SHIELD if it weren't for me. And so could you," he continues, trying unsuccessfully to hide the bitterness in his voice.

She is quiet for a long moment. "It's not that simple," she attempts.

"Yes, it is. Steve chose to side with me instead of them, and I know Steve. He doesn't do anything halfway. And now his goose is cooked. Because of me."

"James, of course he sided with you. But people are scared, and you know what can happen when people let that emotion take over."

"Yeah, I do." He doesn't attempt to hide the anger from his tone, though he does resist slamming his fist down on the table.

"I'm coming over," she says with finality, and the line goes dead.

While he waits for her to arrive, he paces. How could Steve have kept this from him? He would willingly have submitted to a trial, to whatever punishment was deemed appropriate. Why would Steve take that decision out of his hands, not even let him know it was an option? What is he supposed to do now? He is angry, and doesn't know what to do about it. The desire to call Steve and give him a piece of his mind is strong, but he doesn't know what that would solve.

Finally, there is a brisk knock at the door and he goes to open it. Unsurprisingly, Natalia stands there, an unreadable expression on her face. He steps back to allow her to enter, shutting the door behind her.

"I need you to calm down," she tells him.

"I am calm," he replies, but his tone betrays him.

She quirks an eyebrow at him, then walks over to sit down at his table. Patting the space beside her, she looks at him expectantly. He sighs, but joins her.

"You have to see it from his point of view," she tells him gently, leaning forward to look him in the eye.

He meets her gaze levelly, but frowns. "How can I do that if he won't tell me anything?"

She licks her lips and looks thoughtful. "You're right. But think of it now."

"He'd do anything for me, no matter what it cost him," he mutters, looking away.

"He would," she agrees.

"And he never lets people know when they've hurt him. When they're still hurting him."

She nods, smiling hesitantly at him. "He doesn't like letting anyone else have a burden to bear," she suggests.

Cocking his head at her, he considers for a moment. "You know him as well as I do."

A short laugh escapes her. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. But I've been getting to know him pretty well in the last couple years. He needs you, James. More than anyone else. He doesn't think he has anyone else," she clarifies when he looks puzzled.

He sighs heavily. "How can he need me when he never tells me what he's going through?"

"I don't know what he wants, James. But you do. And I think you should go talk to him, now that you're not angry."

Looking at her appraisingly, he appreciates the earnestness of her expression. "Alright," he promises, then looks down at his hands. "Will you come with me?"

She is smiling, a little sadly, when he looks up. "Of course."


	12. And This Will Happen All Again

**A/N: As always, thanks so much to those of you who have reviewed! It really helps :)**

**12\. And this will happen all again**

The trip to Steve's place doesn't take nearly long enough for him to put all of his thoughts in order. He'll just have to wing it, he supposes as Natalia knocks. She looks at him reassuringly, and he's grateful that she held his hand the whole way. It helped him feel a little grounded.

Steve looks tired when he opens the door, but he smiles at them faintly. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself," Natalia answers, calm as usual. "Can we come in?"

"Sure," Steve replies. A look of apprehension crosses his face as he steps back to let them come inside.

He's been to Steve's place a few times, though Steve mostly comes to his. The door opens onto a short hallway, with the kitchen to the right and the living and dining area further to the right. Bedrooms and bathroom are to the left. Steve moves far enough back so that they can walk past him and into the living room. As he expected, Natalia leads the way. When she reaches the living room, she stands back and motions for him to sit. Puzzled, he does so, watching Steve enter slowly.

"Nat, what's going –" Steve begins.

She cuts him off with a smile. "You two need to talk. I'll give you some space. James, let me know when you're ready to go," she tells him, then disappears into the other half of Steve's apartment. The front door doesn't make a sound, so he supposes she hasn't actually left, but feels uncomfortable at her absence nonetheless.

Steve drops onto the other couch, facing him, looking expectant. "What is it, Buck?" he asks gently.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he murmurs, immediately thinking there were better questions available.

"Tell you what?"

"About, you know, SHIELD."

Steve looks at him for a long moment, frowning a little in thought. "We didn't think it would be good for you to know, when you came in," he explains quietly.

"And when were you planning on letting me know?"

Shrugging, Steve looks away. "I don't know. There never seemed to be the right time. And I've been hoping it would be resolved before I had to explain it," he adds.

"Well, explain it now," he insists.

The urgency in his tone causes Steve to meet his eye again. "What do you know?"

Somewhat annoyed at the redirection, he focuses his attention on the floor while he relates what Natalia told him. "You took down SHIELD, and then went to find me. You went back in to help the Avengers when they needed it with Ultron. But something happened after, and you're not on the same page anymore."

Steve smiles grimly. "Nat told you."

"Yes. You wouldn't."

"I couldn't, Buck. We knew you wouldn't understand."

A flash of anger runs through him, and he glares at Steve. "I wouldn't understand that all this happened because of me?" he growls.

"Not all of it," Steve insists.

"Would you have clashed so much if it weren't for me?"

Steve bites his lip, considering how truthful to be. Unsurprisingly, he is completely honest when he answers. "We were always clashing, Buck, but recent events, including your appearance, definitely drove us further apart. But it's not your fault."

"People keep saying that," he mutters bitterly.

"It's not, Buck. You were just… Just being used."

He runs his fingers through his hair, then stares at his hands. "I know. But it was still my hands, my finger on the trigger. Does anyone know about me, Steve? Besides those I've met on missions?"

The troubled look on Steve's face is difficult to witness. "A few people," he answers.

"Who?"

"The other Avengers. Sharon. Maria Hill. No one else."

He looks hard at Steve. "Who's running SHIELD? Hill?"

Shaking his head, Steve avoids his gaze. "No."

"Who?"

"Stark."

A grim smile twists his features. "So this is because of what I did in the nineties?"

Steve frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I caused the car accident that killed his parents, I think. I'm not entirely sure, but I remember Howard," he explains with a detached calm.

The expression on Steve's face is harder to bear than before. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He flinches, staring intently at the floor again. "What good would that do?"

Steve sighs heavily. "I can't help you if you keep things from me."

A bitter laugh escapes him. "That's what I came here to say."

It's rare to see such a grim smile on Steve's face, but it is somehow familiar. "We always did think the same," he observes. "Fine, you're right. I should have told you when I started taking you on missions with me. I just… You were making such good progress and I didn't want to risk upsetting you."

"Upsetting me?" he repeats incredulously.

"Well, you know, affecting your world view. You were adjusting so well, I figured news like that would throw you off," Steve asserts.

He nods tiredly. "What about Sharon?"

If possible, Steve looks even more upset and uncomfortable. "She works for SHIELD," he answers emotionlessly.

His jaw clenches. "So she didn't take your side."

"Well, she's trying. She wants us to all be on the same side."

Thinking of Natalia, he snorts. "You're Captain America. How can that not be the right side?"

Steve laughs shortly. "I'm not always right, you know."

"Are you sure? Because I've never known you to be … conflicted about doing what you think is right. So I just assumed you always knew what that was."

"You always put too much faith in me," Steve mumbles.

"Never too much," he insists. Steve gives him that look, that uncomfortable but grateful look and he smiles a little sadly at his oldest friend. "Steve, what would they do if they found me?"

A dark look passes over Steve's face. "I don't know, Buck. Take you to trial, send you to jail. They don't understand."

He sighs. "Maybe they don't need to. If turning myself in is what will put a stop to all of this, I'll do it."

"But, Bucky," Steve pleads.

"I shouldn't get off scot-free just because of whom I know," he replies.

Steve looks away. "I don't think it will help, Buck."

He sits back, considering Steve's expression. "You know, this is the kind of thing I was thinking we could have avoided if you weren't Captain America."

Another short laugh escapes Steve, and he shakes his head slowly. "Well, that's true."

"You didn't realize you'd be a symbol to the nation for life, did you?"

Steve smiles. "No, I didn't, but that ship sailed a long time ago. Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I hadn't, if we'd both survived the war as regular soldiers and come home after. We probably would have lived pleasant, if boring, lives and be dead by now."

"Well, when you put it that way…"


	13. And I Only Have Myself to Blame

**A/N: Thank you for reviewing! The action is going to be picking up from here on in :)**

**13\. And I only have myself to blame**

Natalia appears when it's time to go, as if she knew they were finished. He embraces Steve, lacking the words to express what he wants to, and then they leave. As they walk down the stairs to the ground floor, Natalia takes his hand and squeezes it gently, looking at him.

"Is that really what you want?" she asks.

"Hmm?"

"To turn yourself in," she clarifies.

He shrugs. "I deserve it. I've spent seventy years destroying lives."

Her fingers tighten around his hand, and she shakes her head vehemently. "It wasn't you."

The sentiment is getting a little old, and he sighs. "Natalia, I don't want to be the reason for any dissidence. And if submitting myself to the justice system is what is expected of me at this point, I'm willing to give it a try."

She bites her lip. "But they might put you in a prison."

"They might. But I'm a mess, Natalia. And maybe I'd do better in there than trying to act normal out here." He stops them on the sidewalk and turns to face her. She's not making any effort to hide how his words upset her. "I don't mean that you and Steve and Sam haven't done your best to help me. And I'd hate to be away from any of you. But I'm trying to be realistic. The Winter Soldier was a war criminal, a terrorist. And I'm not going to hide that."

She pulls him down for a kiss and he closes his eyes as her hand presses on the back of his neck. "You're an idiot," she tells him gently, smirking, when she releases him.

A smile comes unbidden to his lips, and he shakes his head at her. "I'm trying to be serious here," he answers.

"Too serious," she explains. "Anyway, I think the argument can be made that you've been a prisoner of war longer than anyone in history, and should be treated as one." His brow furrows as he considers the idea. "But come on. Steve will be serious enough for the three of us, so let's go have some fun." Her hand takes his again and she drags him forward. He grins and lets her set the pace.

Steve sends him messages frequently. They're usually short, sent via his cell phone, and rarely expect a response. He tries to answer as often as possible, but most of them seem to be more a case of Steve reminding himself of his friend's presence than a real interaction. If he wants that, Steve calls. As expected, the messages following their exchange heavily feature protestations of his innocence in what the Winter Soldier did, and how he shouldn't blame himself for anything that's happened. He supposes he does blame himself to some degree, for allowing that to happen to him. But certainly not to the degree that Steve thinks. It's just more red in his ledger, as Natalia would say.

His days are filled with research, which has occupied most of his time for the last few months. All the information he could gather on himself and the project he has long since gone through and dissected. He won't read it again. Instead, he reads about SHIELD, and HYDRA, and what is happening in the world now. It's difficult to follow, usually, since there is so much he's missed. But he does what he can to understand why Steve and Stark are able to cause a rift in much more than just their circle of friends.

There were always whispers of the Winter Soldier in the intelligence communities, but he's becoming better known. At least mentioned as being connected with recent events, or with previous assassinations. No indication is given, at least as far as he can find, that the Soldier was once Captain America's best friend, Bucky. People are much more aware of Bucky than he thought or expected. So it seems like only a matter of time before someone connects the dots, but he can't find anyone suggesting it. Perhaps it's a little too far-fetched, even after everything else that's happened.

After a long walk one evening, he freezes when he sees that his door is ajar. Pressing himself against the wall as he approaches the door, he listens hard for any sign of who is in his apartment. The lights are on, faintly visible through the small opening, and he supposes stealth wasn't exactly their intention. It's probably not a trap, then; though he's gotten himself out of plenty of those. Gently, he pushes the door open and slips inside, shutting it behind him.

Sam is sitting on his couch, staring intently at the wall. For a moment, he's relieved to see his friend, but then tenses as he wonders what he could possibly be doing here. "Hey," he says, folding his arms across his chest.

When Sam turns to look at him, he is considerably startled to see he's been crying. "Hey, Bucky. I… I came to tell you."

"Tell me what?" he asks, attempting to keep the urgency from his tone.

Sam bites his lip, looking away, then back. "I came to get you," he clarifies. "You'll have to keep a low profile, though. They might be looking for you."

"Who? Why? What's going on?" he demands.

Getting to his feet, Sam shakes his head, trying to look reassuring. Calming. "It's Steve. He's been shot. They're not sure… They don't know if he's going to make it."

"What?" The breath escapes him and he leans heavily against the counter.

Sam walks over and puts his hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "Come on, let's go see him."

Obediently, he turns and follows Sam out the door. Sam locks it behind them, since the thought wouldn't have occurred to him, and leads the way to his car. The drive seems both eternal and far too fast. When they arrive, he'll have to face this. He'll have to look at Steve and see what happened to him and have to deal with it. And he's not ready. He'll never be ready. Somehow, he gets out of the car and makes his way after Sam through a parking garage and in an elevator and down sterile white hallways until they get to Steve's room.

"Steve," he whispers, walking as if in a trance over to his friend, who's lying somewhat propped up in the hospital bed. The regular beeping of machines is oddly comforting. Steve doesn't move, doesn't open his eyes, when he approaches, not even when he takes his hand. It's cold. He almost drops it in distress, but then Sam's there, over his shoulder.

"They put him under to reduce the swelling. I think they said. I didn't entirely follow the technicalities," Sam tells him gently.

"What's going to happen to him?" he chokes out, holding tightly to Steve's hand. What will he do without him? Stuck here, in the future, without his best friend? Without the person who saved him from the hell he was living for decades? What will he do?

"I don't know, man." Sam pats his shoulder, then just stands quietly.

At some point, he is aware of the door opening behind him, but can't seem to care.

"James," Natalia's voice disrupts his train of thought and he looks up at her. She's been crying, he notes, and is surprised to realize his own face is wet. Kneeling down beside him, she wraps her arms around him, nestling her head against his chest. "I'm so sorry," she murmurs.

"For what?" he wonders, confused.

"I was there, James. I shouldn't have been so far away, I should have checked the rooftops first, I should have –"

He shushes her, pulling her close, then looks back at Steve. "What's going to happen?" he asks her quietly. She shakes her head slowly, closing her eyes.

"We have to go, guys," Sam interrupts, sounding pained.

Frowning, he looks up. "Why?"

"Because they'll be back soon and we're not supposed to be here."

He looks at Natalia, who nods, trying to compose herself. "Come on, James. I'll take you home. Sam will keep an eye on him for us, won't you?"

Sam nods gravely. "Stay safe," he tells them as he allows Natalia to lead him away.


	14. See, I Keep Lying to Myself

**A/N: As always, thank you so much if you've reviewed! I am visiting family so the updates may be a little more sporadic, but I'm hoping will still happen daily.**

**14\. See, I keep lying to myself**

Somehow, they make it back to his apartment. He sits down on the couch, perhaps at Natalia's insistence. She curls up next to him and he holds her while she cries. All he feels is numb, and no tears come. Then he starts to get angry. What caused this to happen? Who is behind it? And what can he do to get revenge? Steve wouldn't want him to be out for revenge, of course. But there's more to it than that. He's not going to go out there just to make himself feel better. He's going to honor his friend's memory in whatever way he can. Except he doesn't know what happened, doesn't have any clues to follow.

"Natalia," he murmurs, running his hand down her back.

She adjusts herself to look up at him. "What is it?"

"Tell me what happened."

Biting her lip, she sits up and away from him. He resists drawing her back. "James, I know you want to know, but maybe it's too soon," she says quietly.

"Natalia, please." He's sick of people keeping things from him to protect him. He can handle it.

Seeing the look on his face, she nods. "Don't go off half-cocked because of what I tell you," she warns him sternly.

"I won't," he promises, though unsure if he's being truthful.

She takes a deep breath and folds her legs beside her, staring off into the distance. "Steve was trying to get everyone on the same page. He was… Well, that's not important now. There was a press conference called and Steve was determined to speak. There was a lot of… strife surrounding it. Protestors from both sides. Fury sent me to be his eyes and ears in the crowd, and, when Steve arrived with Sharon, someone … shot him from a building across the street. When I got there, it was too late. They were gone."

When she folds her hand around his, he realizes he's clenched his fists. After a moment, he loosens them. "You didn't see anything helpful?"

"What do you mean?"

Keeping the strain from his voice is difficult. "Any indication of who did this?" He can tell she's keeping something from him by the expression that passes briefly over her face. "Natalia, tell me," he insists.

"It's not that simple," she tells him, just as insistently. "But I think… I think it was Rumlow," she adds hesitantly.

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his fists again. A face flashes before his eyes, a face that watched him and saw only a malfunctioning tool. "Where can I find him?"

She takes hold of his hands and makes him look her in the eye. "Don't do this, James. Getting yourself killed isn't going to help Steve."

"Then what will?" he snarls.

Her brow furrows at his tone, and he feels a little remorseful. "I don't know how much he's aware of, but I'm sure he'd appreciate another visit from his best friend. Particularly if his friend is calm," she adds pointedly.

He smiles grimly. "I don't think there will be much chance of that. Seeing him like that…" Shaking his head violently, he pulls away from her. "It's too much," he manages to admit.

She takes his hands again, holding him still. "James, please don't do this. We don't know what will happen. He may pull through."

"Did the doctors say that?"

Her expression is sincere as she nods. "Yes. He might. Or he might not. They're doing everything they can. So don't do anything rash because you're upset."

"That's what he would do," he suggests harshly.

She snorts. "I thought you were the sensible one."

"Well, you might be wrong."

"I don't think so," she says gently, looking at him intently. "Steve only sees the world in black and white. I know you can see the shades of grey."

"What are you talking about?"

"Steve saw nothing left to live for if he'd lost you. If he'd failed you. But you have something else, don't you, James?"

He studies her face, considering. The world feels as though it's been ripped from under his feet. But he still has her, his Natalia. And Sam. Maybe others. "Yes," he admits.

"Good." She settles against his chest again and he lets her.

* * *

Eventually, she leaves. Eventually, he gets up from the couch to look out the window. Whatever her excuse for not staying with him any longer was lost on him; he's too deep in thought to really notice. After everything that's happened, this blow is unimaginable. He feels as though someone really has hit him, perhaps over and over. Like he hit Steve. If there's one thing he truly feels guilty about, it's that. When he started to recognize Steve, his first reaction was to drive the confusing presence away, not attempt to understand. Well, arguably, his real first reaction was to ask about the man he'd seen. But then they'd wiped him, and he'd been afraid, terrified, of what he was feeling when Steve started to break through again. So he'd put his best friend in the hospital. And now he was there again.

Everything spirals. Whenever he gets used to how things are going to be, something worse always seems to come along. After his dad died, he went to war. After he'd been promoted and was doing well, he was a prisoner of war. Things notably improved when Steve asked him to join the Howlies, but then he'd fallen off of the train and everything became much, much worse. He should have known that the comfort and happiness he'd been feeling here lately weren't going to last.

As he contemplates his life, he is startled by a knock. It isn't at his door, as he would have expected, but rather at a window. Hesitantly, he follows the sound to find a hunched figure on his fire escape, patiently motioning to get his attention. A deep frown crosses his face, but he goes to open the window, stepping back quickly before he can be attacked.

"Thought you'd never get here," the man mutters as he climbs in and then stands up straight. He's dressed in many layers, including sunglasses and a hat. But he recognizes him.

"Fury," he says, surprised. He wonders if he should apologize for almost killing him a few months earlier.

"Let's not advertise that, Barnes," Fury advises, dusting himself off.

"What do you want?" he asks, folding his arms over his chest. The slightest look of alarm that crosses Fury's face at the movement of his metal arm doesn't go unnoticed.

"I need your help."

"Why me?"

Fury smiles at him, though it is grim. "Because you're a ghost. My best people couldn't find you. So I need you to do something for me without anyone knowing what happened."

His jaw clenches. "Yeah, I'll get right on that."

"Easy, Barnes. It's for Rogers."

As if he could say no to that. He listens, speculative, as Fury explains what he needs. He doesn't explain his unorthodox method of reaching him, but he's convinced in the end. He'd do anything for Steve.


	15. Don't Know What Else There Is To Do

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing! Just a couple chapters left :)**

**15\. Don't know what else there is to do**

"So, why do you want to do this, Barnes?" Barton asks as he readjusts the tip on one of his arrows.

"Fury asked me to," he answers shortly.

Barton smiles grimly. "You always do what Fury wants?"

"No."

Finishing his task, Barton meets his eye. "Then why, Bucky? Why's it so important to you?"

He glances up over to Natalia, who's piloting, then back to Barton. Their conversation is quiet, but she can certainly hear them. If she's waiting for his response, it's not obvious. "I owe it to Steve to make sure the shield doesn't fall into the wrong hands," he explains.

"And yours are the right hands?"

Scoffing, he shakes his head. "No, of course not. But… I know Steve. And I knew him better than anyone. I don't want someone deciding his legacy for him as a political move, or a power play. If Steve… If we need someone to take over for him, there aren't a lot of people I'd trust to make that decision."

Barton nods, seeming satisfied. "Well, I'd agree with you there." Turning toward the cockpit, he raises his voice to talk to Natalia. "Almost there, 'Tasha?"

"Six minutes. We can't approach directly or they'll probably fire on us," she calls back.

"Let's try to avoid that," Barton responds with a grin. "Here, you're going to need this," he adds, handing over the arrow tip he was apparently removing, which he tucks into his belt. Getting to his feet, Clint pats him on the shoulder, and goes to join Natalia in the front. Silently, he watches him go, trying to push away the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. What he said was the truth, of course, but he doesn't like considering that the world may need a Captain America besides Steve Rogers. That Steve might not wake up. Still, if it comes to it… A new Cap will have to represent the same things Steve did, will have to be separate from the government, not a tool for those in power to use to their advantage. Not like the Winter Soldier was.

* * *

When they land, they are in the middle of the woods of upstate New York. Natalia leads the way toward the hidden SHIELD base, one of the few that is left. She always seems to know where things are, and how to get to them. He is glad she agreed to come along, to help him out. It was a very serious conversation when he asked her, but she'd smiled at the end, touched that he'd asked her, perhaps. He appreciated how often she smiled, how she always seemed to find something to smile about. Even now.

Barton didn't go on all of Natalia's missions, but she had suggested he come along on this one. He isn't sure why, but he understood the tactical advantage Barton would provide. He doubts that was what Natalia was thinking of when she brought it up, though. In any case, he can't ignore the strange connection he has with Barton, who understands better than anyone (possibly better than Natalia) what it means to come back from being under enemy control.

Natalia gets them inside without setting off any alarms, which is a feat. The plan is for her to tap into the security feed from inside the base and guide him, while Barton keeps an eye on everything from above.

"You're sure about this?" she asks quietly as they prepare to split up.

"Yeah."

"I can go with you," she offers, looking at him intently.

He smiles slightly, reaching out to take her hand for a moment. "I'll be fine," he promises. "I have to do this."

Nodding, she steps back. "Be careful, James," she tells him.

"I'm sure you'll keep me safe," he replies, tapping his earpiece. The look of concern remains on her face, but she turns back to join Barton.

Taking a deep breath, he heads as quickly and quietly as he can in the opposite direction. The base is, like most of SHIELD's current assets, largely empty. Whether HYDRA or not, most agents have left the company in favor of something a little less universally hated. He knows they are rebuilding, but places like this are not a high priority. Or weren't, at any rate. Now, he is not surprised to find more people walking around than any of the intel they'd gathered would have suggested.

Still, stealth is, and has always been, one of his strengths, so he manages to sneak around undetected. The corridors are long and narrow and he would certainly have gotten lost if Natalia weren't telling him where to go. She's also instrumental in his continued concealment, since she directs him away from any populated areas. As a result, his exploration of the base is circuitous, but unnoticed.

Finally, he comes upon the vault, where they expect the shield to be hidden. When Steve… While he's in the hospital, those in charge determined that the symbol was too precious to leave lying around, and should be protected. He isn't sure who made the call, or why it is stored here. But it doesn't matter. Whoever is calling the shots shouldn't have that much power over what happens to Steve.

"Okay, how do I get in?" he asks quietly into his comm.

"Use what Barton gave you. It'll knock out the security system for about thirty seconds. It won't be unlocked, but you should be able to get it open," Natalia responds.

He pulls the arrow tip out of his pocket and looks at it doubtfully. "You mean I'm going to have to man-handle it," he mutters.

"Pretty much. I'm sure it's nothing your left arm can't manage," she says, her smile obvious in her tone.

"Great. All clear?"

She pauses, perhaps talking to Barton. "Yeah, you should be good for a few minutes, at least. Try to hurry, James."

"Thanks."

Checking his surroundings one last time, he sticks the device onto the locking mechanism and steps back. It doesn't explode, as he was somewhat expecting, but sends out some kind of signal that knocks out all of the lights around him, as well as the keypad. Blinking a few times in the darkness, he carefully positions his left hand to have a good grip on the door. He has no idea how long it will take the system to reboot, and thirty seconds was just an estimate. Besides, it might result in him being locked inside if he's still in there.

So he hurries. Wrenching the door open causes a brief moment of searing pain down his side, but then he can get through and it doesn't matter. He's not injured. The vault is a large room, much larger than he was expecting, with a high ceiling and a great deal of crates and boxes and objects left out in the open strewn on rows of seven-foot-tall shelves. After a second look, he sees that it is mostly arranged in some fashion, not just thrown in. Whatever the method of organization might be, he doesn't have time to work it out.

Quickly, he moves from row to row, searching for the familiar red, white, and blue. It should be near the top of a pile, he thinks. There isn't any dust to indicate what might have been disturbed in the last few days, and he begins to grow frustrated.

"James?"

"Yeah?" he replies, some impatience bleeding into his tone.

"Not a lot of time," Natalia tells him quietly. "You okay in there? I can't see you."

"I'm fine. It's just… There's a lot here."

"Take your time, James. I'm sure Clint and I can bust you out if you get captured."

He laughs abruptly. "Thanks, Natalia, that's good to know."

It's still dark, which he takes as a good sign. His flashlight doesn't provide enough of a visual for him to find things easily, but the lights coming back on will likely mean he can no longer leave this room without help. So he searches as hastily as he can, praying that the lights stay off even as he trips over a small box on the floor. Finally, a familiar glint catches the light, and he lets out a heavy sigh of relief. It's propped up against the wall behind the shelf, behind a surprising number of other objects, which he pushes impatiently aside.

Hesitantly, he takes hold of the shield, pulling it off of the shelf. The heft of it feels right, and he feels somehow better, as if having it means Steve will be okay.

"James, there are alarms going off," Natalia's voice invades his thoughts.

"What?" he asks sharply, leaning toward the shelf. It's still dark in here, at least. But there's clearly some sort of mechanism that the shield was on top of, and the absence of its weight must have been noticed. "Damn it," he growls. He should have looked for that.

Taking off running, he makes it back to the door and slams into it to get out. In the corridor, there are red lights flashing a few yards away, perhaps out of the radius of Barton's device. He can hear the sound of boots heading his direction at a run, and he turns the other direction.

"I've got it. Which way?"

He can keep up a faster pace than his pursuers, and he soon outdistances them. Natalia tells him where to go, this time in a more direct path than before. They're in a hurry this time, and stealth isn't as important.

"There's going to be a lot of agents coming up. James, try not to hurt anyone. I can still direct you around them if you want," she offers.

"No, we need to get out of here," he replies. "Are you and Barton ready?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll see you outside."

The corridor he is following opens onto a large room; the mess hall, he thinks irrelevantly before he has more important things to worry about. There are dozens of agents, many of them armed, and all of them getting to their feet to stare at him. Smiling grimly, he lifts Steve's shield to provide cover, and keeps running. Once or twice he has to roll to avoid being shot, but the shield does its job and he makes it out of there unharmed. And, more importantly, without harming anyone else.


	16. If I Could Be Somebody Else

**A/N: Second to last chapter! Thanks for reviewing :)**

**16\. If I could be somebody else**

The apartment is dark when he arrives, sneaking in through the window. Silently, he pads across the wooden floors to make sure it is as empty as it appears. Satisfied, he goes to the living room and sits down on the couch to wait. He doesn't know how long he sits there, alone with his thoughts, before the welcome sound of the door being unlocked brings him back to the present. Rising quietly, he moves to stand against the wall, out of sight.

The door opens and the lights are turned on in the entryway, shining into the living room where he stands. Footsteps can be heard in the front of the apartment, and he waits patiently until they approach his hiding spot. As soon as the figure comes into view next to him, he grabs her and pins her against the wall, covering her mouth with his right hand.

Her eyes are very wide at first, but then she glares at him and doesn't struggle. "I'm sure you have all kinds of security measures in place here. If I let you go, will you disable them?" he asks quietly.

Still glaring, she nods slowly, and he steps back. "What the hell are you doing here?" she demands, moving a few feet away and inputting a code on a wall-mounted keypad.

"I need your help, Sharon," he answers.

She turns to look at him, appraising. "For what?"

"For Steve."

Her eyes close for a moment and she nods. "Alright. What do you need?"

* * *

"Are you ready?" he asks Sam, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded over his chest.

Sam smiles up at him with a nod before getting to his feet. "Yeah, I'm all set. You're sure you want to do this?"

His mouth is set in a grim line. "After what he said today to those reporters… I need to talk some sense in him, and he's holed up in that helicarrier all the time now."

Taking a deep breath, Sam looks at him appraisingly. "Can you blame him?"

"For hiding? No. But I can for what he said. He doesn't get to decide when Steve needs someone to take his place. He doesn't get to say who will take up the shield if Steve… when Steve no longer needs it."

Sam nods. "Alright. But, Bucky, don't do anything stupid."

He smiles. "I'll try."

* * *

"Those security measures look pretty damn operational," Sam's voice buzzes in his ear. The wind is too loud to be able to hear him without comm devices.

He resists the urge to shift uncomfortably in Sam's grip. "I've got a friend in there," he replies, hoping that it's true.

Sam snorts, but maneuvers them closer to the helicarrier. It is at least as heavily armed as those they destroyed from Project Insight. But Sharon does what she promised, and they managed to land unharmed and unnoticed. The deck is empty of personnel, and hopefully the cameras are disabled, or they will have an unpleasant surprise waiting for them.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Sam grumbles as he puts his wings away.

"It wasn't hard," he replies lightly.

Shaking his head, Sam takes off his pack and stashes it behind some crates away from the door. "Well, try not to get anyone killed in there. See you on the other side."

"Thanks, Sam," he says sincerely, shaking his hand. Sam nods, then heads out toward one of the quinjets. He'll make a nice distraction with it while he goes to find Stark, so he can't stick around to watch.

The corridors in the helicarrier are somewhat familiar, but he must retrace his steps twice when he gets lost. It's a big place. Avoiding the agents inside is also difficult, but he is more equipped to do that. He does wish he'd asked Natalia to help, though. The bridge is well-manned, but a quick glance convinces him not to linger, and he heads toward the quarters on the ship. Those are less populated, but, again, do not contain what he's looking for. So he heads down to the labs on the lower level. Success.

Silently, he slips inside and presses a button on his arm. Barton rigged it to release an EMP signal, after he explained what the arrow he'd given him on the last mission was. It's very useful, and the room immediately goes dark.

"What the hell?" Stark mutters, not immediately aware of the situation.

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing," he replies, grabbing Stark by the collar and tossing him away from the lab table. Away from any tools he might use to defend himself.

Stark climbs to his feet, blinking in the darkness, taking in the situation. "Barnes?" he asks incredulously. "Thought you were getting your head shrunk."

Frowning slightly, he takes a menacing step toward the smaller man. "What were you thinking?" he snarls. "Captain America's not dead."

With a cold smile, Stark shakes his head slowly. "No, but they froze him."

"What?!" Without thinking, he reaches out with his left hand and grabs him by the throat.

"Whoa, that's a little close, buddy," Stark says, grasping ineffectually at the metal.

"What do you mean they froze him?" he demands slowly, enunciating carefully.

Stark swallows a little painfully around his hold. "I mean they thought operating might kill him, and doing nothing would kill him, so they put him in cryofreeze to, you know, delay having to make a decision. Why, is it unpleasant? Because I was thinking I might want to, you know, take some time off one of these days."

He tightens his grip so Stark will shut up. Steve's frozen? Like he was? It wasn't a good experience, but probably not the worst that he's had. "Is that why you told them we need a new Cap?" he wants to know.

Stark struggles a little bit and he relents but doesn't release him. "I screwed up, kid, I know. Cap was right. But the bad guys are taking advantage of our little tiff, and it's going to take more than just me to bring them down. Look, I'm glad you came by and I'd love to chat, but this isn't exactly comfortable," he whines.

Glaring, he drops him and steps back a few feet. "Who?"

"Well, HYDRA's still a thing, you know. And that one fella, that guy who survived the helicarrier crashing into the Triskelion. Yeah, it seems he's got quite the following these days, especially since they're saying he killed Captain America."

"Rumlow?"

"That's the guy," Stark says, nodding.

He looks hard at the other man, considering his truthfulness. "So, why haven't you tracked him down? Killed him or taken him in?"

"My hands are a little full these days, what with country-wide protests and the general, you know, distrust of the intelligence agency I'm trying to get off the ground again."

"Sam's right," he says.

"What?"

He shakes his head, refusing to answer. "I have the shield. I'm not going to give it to someone else just because you think they should be Captain America. Just because you think we need one. You're not exactly the most qualified person to determine Steve's legacy," he growls.

Stark actually smiles at him, causing his frown to deepen. "I was hoping you'd bring that up. You're completely right. Bucky Barnes is definitely the most qualified person to represent Steve Rogers' Legacy. So, tell me, Soldier, do you think Bucky's available?"

"What are you talking about?" he asks warily, fists clenching.

"Come with me," Stark replies, turning and heading deeper into the lab. Slowly, suspiciously, he follows him back to an area that resembles an office. Stark opens the drawers until he finds a folded piece of paper, which he hands over.

Still watching Stark, he opens it and is startled to see Steve's handwriting. "What is this?" he gasps.

"He sent it to me the day he got shot. Trying to make amends. Wish I'd have listened sooner," Stark mutters, busying himself with arranging the papers strewn on the desk.

Glancing carefully at Stark every few moments, he reads the letter. Most of it addresses the cause of their schism, but he is surprised to find himself mentioned. Steve insisted that he not be monitored like Stark wanted, and it was obvious that he was at least a strong influence in Steve's decision to oppose Stark's plan. As he continues to read, it strikes him that Steve might have known someone would try something at the press conference. It reads too much like a last request, and he swallows painfully.

Steve was, as always, worried about the people he cared most about. He asked Stark to take care of Bucky, to give him a way to help. He said that, if it came to it, the country would need a new Captain America. And who better to carry on his legacy than his best friend?

"It's not me anymore," he murmurs, struggling to keep the tears from his eyes as he reads what his friend wanted.

Stark looks up at him. "But it could be," he offers.


	17. Well, I Think I Would For You

**A/N: Thank you so much for reviewing! I hope you enjoy it and see you next time :)**

**17\. Well, I think I would for you**

"You okay, James?" Natalia asks quietly.

He pulls on the rest of the new suit, biting his lip. "Maybe," he answers honestly as he walks up to the cockpit where she's sitting.

Holding out her hand, he takes it gratefully. "You can do this," she reassures him, squeezing his fingers briefly.

"I hope so," he replies.

"Clint's got his eyes on the situation. He says Rumlow is definitely in there, but he's not alone. Sam's on the way here. Do you want to wait for him?" she suggests as she sets the quinjet down on the roof.

He shakes his head. "No, we don't know how long he'll stay here. He hasn't exactly been holding still long enough for us to track him," he responds. "So I'd better go in there and at least slow him down. How many men does he have?"

"A few dozen, Clint said. There's a lot of movement amongst the ranks, apparently."

He nods seriously, strapping a gun into each holster as he frowns out the front window. She gets to her feet and stands next to him, watching him. "What?" he asks, glancing at her.

She smiles. "You and Stark do good work," she answers, touching the material of his suit. "Be careful, James," she adds.

"I'll do my best."

"I know."

Picking up the shield, he slips it onto his arm and wonders again if he should really be doing this. Some indication of that thought must show on his face, because she puts her arms around him insistently. "It's what he'd want, James. You'll make him proud," she tells him firmly.

A slow smile spreads across his face as he looks down at her. "What would I do without you?" he asks.

She kisses him gently before stepping back, smirking. "Get into trouble, I imagine. Now, get a move on, James. You promised me dinner after."

Grinning, he opens the hatch and heads out.

* * *

Captain America may not sneak into places, but he's not going to barge in like Steve always did. So he makes his way silently from the building where they landed down a few blocks to the building where Rumlow is hiding out. It's a HYDRA facility, or has become one, and he's gone to rally the troops. Or something to that effect. He knows Barton is somewhere above him, seeing better from a distance, as usual, and he is comforted that Sam and Natalia are both willing to provide backup. But this is something he wants to, no, needs to accomplish alone.

The building is suspiciously lit up more than any of its neighbors in this part of town, where most people don't venture at night. He doesn't see anyone making his way there, and is not surprised to find that most other structures in the area are abandoned. They don't know where Rumlow will be in the building, but he knows the man. There were some missions they went on together. Well, not in the sense that they were on a team, by any means. But Rumlow was often around while he was completing recent missions.

Glass shatters as he tosses smoke grenades into the first few floors, pulling a mask over his face as he makes his way through the chaos that results. Most of the men are on these floors, and they panic at the attack. Soon, though, they're unconscious, and he feels a little better that his first mission hasn't involved killing anyone. Not yet, anyway. It's not the plan, but he realizes it might happen.

The upper floors are less populated but the men have already found masks, so his grenades are of no further use. He is pleased that the suit does wonders to keep him from being injured as the men attempt to fight back. Bringing them down is easy; they are startled and not high in the rank order. Many are scientists, not soldiers, and he takes care to knock them out instead of killing them. Though perhaps people using their brilliance for the things this place encouraged would be better off dead; but that's not his place to decide. SHIELD will come and take them into custody if he asks them to.

As he approaches the top floor, a weight suddenly comes down from above and settles on his shoulder, sending a painful shockwave through him. His suit somehow manages to reduce this (for which he thanks Stark and his forethought-bordering-on-paranoia), but he drops to his knees for a moment anyway. Then he forces himself to get some distance as a grenade drops beside him, putting the shield between it and himself. He can just make out the sound of someone cursing above him before it goes off and he can't really hear anything.

" – ames, are you alright?" Natalia's voice in his ear.

"Yeah," he coughs back. "I think I found him."

Momentarily dazed from the explosion, he shakes it off and continues running up the stairs, finding a fortified door at the top. With help from the EMP and his metal arm, he gets it open in a matter of seconds. The darkness inside is certainly a disadvantage, though, since he doesn't know the layout of the building. Natalia was unsuccessful at hacking into their security, though perhaps there wouldn't have been cameras up here anyway.

Out of nowhere, a fist appears in his field of vision and he manages to twist away enough for the impact not to knock him out. Still, it hurts. But it is always easy for him to lose himself in the violence of the moment. The maneuvering and outmaneuvering with his opponent comes naturally, and he wonders vaguely if they have fought before.

"Come on, _Bucky_," Rumlow's voice mocks in the darkness. "It wasn't personal."

Snarling, he charges and manages to knock the man back a few yards with his left arm. "Wasn't it?" he asks harshly.

"Just trying to make the world a better place. You understand that, don't you, Soldier?" Rumlow continues, the sound of his voice betraying his location. Sloppy.

"How does killing Captain America make the world a better place?" he can't resist asking as they exchange a few blows before he lands a kick that sends Rumlow into a concrete pillar with enough force for it to crack.

Rumlow wheezes out a laugh. "When the good guys can't stop fighting themselves, they lose sight of what they're supposed to be doing. I was just reminding them," he says nobly.

"Oh, I'm sure a jury of your peers will understand that," he replies coldly, dragging Rumlow up by the collar and shoving him into the pillar again.

Rumlow is still smiling, though looking a little crazed. Of course, that may just be a result of his previous injuries. "How many peers do you think I have?" he wants to know.

Sighing, he ducks as Rumlow throws a punch, then tosses him away. He hits a desk and papers fly everywhere as it slides back a few feet. "Hopefully not too many," he replies. "You ready to surrender or do I have to keep kicking your ass?"

"I am enjoying this, seeing our little Winter Soldier play at being a hero," Rumlow replies viciously, getting to his feet and charging.

He lifts the shield and Rumlow hits it head on, his momentum bouncing him off the metal and into another pillar. Rumlow crumples to the ground. He approaches warily as the other man begins to stir. "I was never playing," he says, carefully aiming a punch and knocking his enemy unconscious at last. He looks around, surveying the mess, and decides he can wait for Sam now.

* * *

"An anonymous tip led SHIELD agents to find Brock Rumlow, alias Crossbones, restrained in an abandoned warehouse downtown. He has been detained in connection with the assassination attempt perpetrated against Steve Rogers, alias Captain America, and is in SHIELD custody. Reports of a new Captain America have surfaced in connection with this story, and we will continue to keep you up to date as it unfolds."

"Nice anonymous tip, Nat," Sam says with a grin, motioning toward the news story.

She smiles back at him. "Well, I didn't want him to be stuck there for too long. It might have been a little too tempting to get some revenge."

"I was hoping to see how we looked on tv, but maybe next time," Barton puts in with a sigh.

"Haven't we been on television enough, Clint?" Natalia asks him, raising an eyebrow.

He frowns at her. "Were you too busy checking out your boyfriend's new uniform to notice mine?" he asks plaintively.

"Probably," she replies with a grin.

Barton rolls his eyes. "Come on, Sam, let's leave these two alone."

Sam smiles at the exchange. "Alright. We did good, man. But I think that's enough celebrating for one night. Have a good one, Bucky, Nat."

"You too, Sam," she says with a kinder smile, which remains on her face as they leave. When the front door is closed, she turns to face him, looking serious. "You okay? You're awfully quiet, James."

He smiles at her. "I'm fine. Just thinking."

"Well, stop that. It's late," she tells him, turning off the television.

"Natalia… I'm not sure I should be doing this," he murmurs.

"Taking up the shield?" she asks.

"Yeah."

She arranges herself so she is facing him, looking at him intently. "You're a good man, James," she says seriously.

He smiles grimly. "Not really, no. But you're the only one who understands that."

Her expression softens and he pulls her against his chest, kissing her forehead. Running a hand through her hair, he thinks that she is – now. But there was a man who knew him, who saw him as he really was and always believed in his potential to be better. And he's spent most of his life trying to prove that man right. He can only hope that, if – when – Steve wakes up, he'll finally be the man Steve always thought he could be.


End file.
